TSU RAI KU
by carpetfibers
Summary: Life begins at twenty, or so they claimed. But Sakura's still waiting, and so far all she has for it is a seven day work week, an empty kitchen, and uncomfortable shoes. That is, until a man breaks into her apartment- and refuses to go away. S
1. Prologue

_A/N: __I haven't touched the CCS fandom in a long while, not since I first tried my hand at fanfiction waaaay back in high school. A chance remark from a friend brought about this story idea, and once I began planning it out, the characters really lent themselves to the story. So, let me know what you think, your likes and dislikes._

_Warnings: This is an alternate universe to the original story. The characters have been re-interpreted to match the environment and time given. No fears, though, you will not be seeing any crazy OOC-ness. Just imagine, if you will, what CLAMP might have given us had our favorite magic girl simply been a normal woman, looking for something exciting to come her way. . ._

_Disclaimer: It's all CLAMP's. Plainly._

**TSU.RAI.KU**

_**. . .falling, jumping- either way, you eventually land on the ground. . .**_

_by: carpetfibers_

**Prologue**

**"KINOMOTO-SAN, I **knew I could count on you. 'Kinomoto-san is a hard worker', I was telling Honda-san and so this project should go to you."

"Endo-san is very generous but this weekend is the company weekend trip. We won't be back until Monday. I'm sorry, Endo-san." Sakura smiled regretfully, although a large part of her brain was thanking the powers that be for the annual event.

Her manager gave a short wave of his hand. "All taken care of Kinomoto-san; I will go in your place-" He beamed at her, cutting her objections short. "So please place all of your attention on the project. We're counting on you."

Sakura wilted under the smile and nodded meekly. "I'll work hard. . ."

Her manager nodded, satisfied, and then returned to his office, leaving Sakura blinking at her computer screen and thinking once again of quitting her job. Being an editor had once been a thing of great joy to the woman, but four years later and she longed for change. Not necessarily excitement, but change. . . maybe she should consider signing up for a cooking class again? She shook her head and pushed away the concerns. The project needed her attention.

It was a bakery this time, whose owner wanted to renovate and work-over the image. Thankfully, the designers had been thorough in their preparation. There were several different themes to consider, all of which had received the bakery owner's approval. Surveys done by frequent customers showed that the most popular items in the bakery were the cakes and pastries, and so she focused her energies in that direction. There was choosing the new furniture, the new layout, wall decorations, starting menu, opening day special. . .

When she answered her ringing mobile some fifteen odd hours later, she was greeted with scolding.

"Sa-ku-ra-chan! You're still at work, aren't you?"

She winced into the phone. "Tomoyo-chan. . ."

Her best friend's voice continued its remonstrations. "It's past midnight. You let Endo-san stick you with his work again- and don't make excuses, I heard all about it at the goukon."

"Goukon? Again?" Unconsciously, Sakura started going through the motions to leave. The office had long since cleaned out, her station one of the few spots of light left on her floor.

She heard the sound of laughter in the background. "A very successful one this time, too. We had three couples leave together for drinks. Now it's just me, Rika-chan and Takashi-san."

There was a brief scuffle of sound and then a new voice came on the line. "Sakurin? Sakurin!"

Sakura smiled, balancing the mobile between her shoulder and ear while she punched in the correct floor in the elevator. "Takashi, how was the goukon?"

Depression emanated from the phone almost instantly. "Sakurin, not a single girl believed me. It was all 'Takashi-kun is a liar' and 'Takashi-kun is an idiot.' I think _she_ has been sabotaging my efforts."

"Well, Chiharu is upset with you right now." The saga of Takashi and Chiharu had started nearly fifteen years earlier, when the two were still in elementary school. Their pattern of breaking up and making up was more dependable than the lunar cycle.

"Sakurin, Sasaki-san wants to talk to you now. Bye-bye."

Sakura pulled the phone away from her ear as a brief spurt of feedback radiated. It was almost immediately replaced by the soft, welcoming tones of her former co-worker and high school friend. "Sakura? Are you hungry?"

"Rika." She smiled, feeling almost instantly soothed. "A little, but I'm tired, too. I think I'll just warm something up once I get home."

"Hmn. We're going out for drinks on Sunday. Sakura should come."

The tell-tale sounds of separation were plain in Rika's voice. It probably meant that guy was gone again. "Have you heard from Terada-sensei yet?"

"Hmn! He called me this morning, after his plane landed."

Sakura fell into the empty bus stop bench gratefully, regretting her decision to have worn heels that morning. "When does he come back?"

"Wednesday night. This should be the last trip for a little while. His company is going to announce the decision for the promotion on Friday. That should remove some of the pressure."

"I'm sorry, Rika. I wish we could help."

Sakura could easily picture her friend shaking her head. Rika and Terada-sensei had been another love story with continuous ups and downs. Terada-sensei had been their elementary school teacher and then later their home room teacher in their last year of high school. He had given up teaching when the two became engaged, thinking that the salary of a teacher was not enough to support a wife and future family. The fact that Rika didn't need that sort of thing still hadn't been resolved. Terada-sensei's position as a salaryman kept him out for long hours and frequently gone on business trips.

A sudden crash echoed from the background on the line and distantly, she heard a brief yell. "Rika? Is everything okay?"

"Sorry, Sakura, but Yamazaki-san has been drinking too much, I think. Tomoyo-san needs my help. Call me tomorrow? I found a really cute stationary store that I want to show you."

Sakura nodded, climbing onto an almost empty bus. "I promise. Tell Tomoyo-chan and Takashi good-night for me, okay?"

The sounds of more crashing and breaking struggled through as Rika closed the line. Sakura stared at her mobile screen for a moment, thanking, briefly, that at the very least she still had good friends in her life. During the first year in her job, she had often joined Tomoyo, Rika, and the others when they went out. Tomoyo was forever playing matchmaker despite her nearly permanent single status, arranging goukons and compas, and Sakura always enjoyed the events, even though only two had resulted in second dates. But then she was transferred into the design department and Jiro Endo became her team manager. Her work days grew longer first by a few minutes and then a few hours, and then finally to extra days at a time. She almost always ended up going to the office on Saturdays, and after three years of it, she considered herself lucky if she was able to see her friends twice a month.

She sighed, watching as beyond the bus window the scenery grew increasingly familiar. She really had no one to blame but herself for the current conditions. She could easily request a transfer or refuse Endo-san when he threw extra work on her desk. She had been so looking forward to this weekend as well, having missed last year's company trip due to the flu. She needed to change- change jobs or personality or something- anything, if only to get out of the monotony of all work and very rarely play.

"Ojou-san, this is the last stop."

Sakura thanked the driver, grabbed her purse, and stepped off from the bus. Despite the late hour, the convenience store outside of her building was still open. She hadn't been completely honest with Rika when she excused her hunger. Her fridge was nearly empty, except for a few third filled take-out containers. She bought a few containers of ramen, some eggs, and two packages of melon bread. The store clerk looked on with obvious pity in her eyes, and Sakura couldn't help but hang her head. It really was too depressing. . .

She stumbled into her flat an hour later, her heels cast aside with exigent relish. "I'm home," she called to the empty room and then sighed.

"Welcome back," she replied to herself. Too depressing, indeed.

The water boiled quickly; she added the seasoning for her noodles, cracked an egg, and threw in some chopped onions. Her brightly colored blouse, skirt and hose were quickly traded in for a t-shirt and track pants. The neat office hair style was yanked free, and with open and weary satisfaction, she set to her meal.

"I will receive," and receive she did. Even instant noodles tasted good after a day of hard work.

It didn't seem to matter that her meal was finished in ten minutes and that the clock showed it was almost three in the morning; Sakura had a set schedule that she followed, regardless of the hour. After dinner, the dishes are washed and dried; clothes that day are quickly scrubbed and thrown into the spinner and then hung beyond the main window to dry. Then it's time for a quick shower. All this is done to reach the final step before bedtime.

Her flat was slightly larger than most 1dk, coming to 23 jo. She could have afforded a larger or newer place on her salary, but the flat offered her something newer ones didn't: concrete walls. Sure they were covered with additional tatami mats for aesthetics, but absolutely no sound got past them. She never heard her neighbors, and they never heard her- which was a very good thing because of the piano. It was an upright, and once upon a time, it had been her mother's. The one main room of the flat had its typical storage closets on the left, and to the right was her piano and in a glass case next to it, a delicate violin.

The violin was her brother's, and until he returned to claim it, it was her most prized possession. When she had been younger, she and her brother would play duets, the music chosen from dozens of song sheets their mother had collected before she died. Sakura loved to play her piano, enjoyed the freeing feel of the keys beneath her fingers, the notes arriving due to her energy and emotions. She never took formalized lessons, and much of what she played was learned from ear rather than sight.

The short time spent playing her piano after work had very easily become the most precious time in day.

Sleep hit her far sooner than it should have, and reluctantly, she withdrew from her piano, and stretched out her futon. Once the light was off, she realized that the window was still open.

"Good night. . ."

It was only an hour later that she woke up, the morning still dark beyond the window. She didn't stir from her position on the floor, only her eyes flew open. In the dimness of the room, she realized almost instantly that she was not alone. There was a figure only a few feet to her right, in front of the glass case that held her brother's violin. If she stretched far enough, she could just touch the figure's feet.

"I know you're awake."

She gasped, instinctively drawing away. The figure continued speaking.

"You really should have stayed asleep." The words were spoken with an annoyed regret, and Sakura tried to make sense of the situation. An male invader had only two possible objectives: either he wanted to hurt her or he was trying to steal something.

"Wh-what do you want?" she asked, frightened, drawing her blanket close to her chest as if to shield herself.

"What to do now. . ."

A stray piece of heat lightning lit up the flat for a brief second and she saw his leanness, unkempt brown hair, and dark eyes. But what grabbed her was the violin in his hands- her brother's precious violin. She dropped her blanket and rose up without thought. "You can't- not that!" she cried.

"No choice, it's what I'm-"

She cut him off. "You always have a choice. You don't have to do _anything_." She shocked herself by the bravery in her words; something in the darkness of the room had given her an anonymous courage. "Please, take something else. I have money in my purse- you can take my savings booklet. I have almost three million yen in there- you can have it all. I won't tell anyone."

The sky lit up again, and she saw an expression of surprise across the thief's features. Darkness overtook it a second later. "Listen, I don't care if you have eighty million yen piled up in your bank; the job is to take this violin. I can't go back on my word, can I?"

"Of course you can!" Sakura couldn't believe she was daring to argue with him. Who knew what he might to do to her? He could be more than a thief, he could be a murderer or worse. "Please, put the violin back."

The darker patch of shadow that was his body began to move, swiftly, toward her window. With a muffled cry, she threw herself at him heedlessly, tackling around the knees, and with a louder crash, they both fell back onto her futon. She knew he was stronger and that her attack was fruitless, but this was her brother's violin, his precious violin- and she had promised to keep it for him until- until, someday, he would return.

The thief quickly overpowered her, pinning her hands behind her back. She managed to get two good kicks in before her legs, too, were trapped beneath his. She closed her eyes, convinced that he would withdraw a knife at this point and that would be the end of it. After nearly a minute of listening to his breathing mixing into her own, she opened her eyes and realized that while she was trapped, so was he. If he let go, she was free to attack again. His face was purposely turned away from hers, his thin lips tightly held. With purpose, she started moving again, using her pinned hands to brace against the floor for leverage.

"Stop struggling!" he yelled at her, his breathing heavy. "You don't even play the thing; what do you care if I take it?"

She stopped moving, surprised by his words. "How would you know that- oh!" In the darkness, she flushed, understanding what he meant. He had been watching her for who knew how long. She began to fight again, this time with more fervor. She managed to free one leg and twisted to jab him in the stomach. He groaned, but didn't release her. Instead, he pulled her hands together more tightly, pinning her wrists with one hand and with the other pressed it against her throat. Within seconds, the pressure increased and black spots started dancing at the edges of her vision.

"Please, please. . .don't take that violin. It is the only thing I have of my brother- it's his most precious violin. Please, even you must have a good person inside you-" And then it was complete darkness despite the opening of dawn beyond the window.

The thief left moments later, and it was not until late in the afternoon that Sakura woke up, hoarse, bruised, and sore. She started bawling the moment she saw that in the midst of the flat's disarray there rested, with deliberate care, her brother's violin. The thief had left it behind.

**Prologue End**

**TSU.RAI.KU**

_**. . .falling, jumping- either way, you eventually land on the ground. . .**_

_A/N: __Phrases or terms you may have been curious about:_

_**Goukon:**__ group date experience; organized by an associated male and female who each invite the same number of their same gender, and the group goes out with the intent to learn about each other and find a potential date. In many ways, a much nicer alternative to the agonizing blind date. Compas are slightly more informal.  
_

_**1dk: **__one room apartment with space for a kitchen and dining area; in Sakura's case, the size is about 23 jo._

_**Jo**__: unit of measurement for tatami mats which is how most Japanese apartments are measured. Approximately, one jo is equal to 190cm x 90cm, or about 17.5 square feet. Sakura's 1dk is, roughly, 400 square feet._

_**Yen: **One million is going to equal just a little less than ten thousand US dollars._


	2. One

_A/N:__ Thanks for all the reviews and feedback. They are, as always, a wonderful encouragement. This story should be updated on a weekly basis give or take two days. I decided to post the first chapter a little earlier than planned because I know, personally, that it's a bit trying to read an intro and then have to wait. So, as a follow-up, chapter one is below. Just a note: my take on grown-up!Tomoyo is that she might end up quite a bit like her mother, only with a tad more serenity. As always, please read and review.  
_

_Disclaimer:__ CLAMP owns all. . .as it should be._

**TSU.RAI.KU**

_**. . .falling might be the fun part. . .**_

_by: carpetfibers_

**ONE**

**"SAKURA-CHAN, ARE** you sure don't want to find a new place? You could live with me."

Sakura smiled and then winced. A week later and the bruises on her face were only just beginning to fade. At some point, an elbow must have made deliberate contact with her jaw. "I like my flat, and I don't think he's going to come back."

Tomoyo huffed, plainly concerned. "I'm staying over again then."

"Tomoyo-chan, no." Sakura shook her head. "I'm okay now. So you don't need to worry so much. Don't you have a show next week? There's no way you can afford to be with me so much."

Tomoyo's brow wrinkled in conflict. "Well, yes. . .but I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone like this. That guy could show up at any time! Who knows what he might tr-"

One of the floor assistants clutched at Tomoyo's arm, his features in extreme distress. "Sakura-chan, I'll be back in a moment," came the unnecessary reassurance.

Sakura nodded, smiling slightly as she watched her best friend since childhood dash off to deal with whatever fabric calamity had arisen. It had always been that way, she realized absently. Since their youth, Tomoyo had been designing, drawing, and planning. Sakura had been her friend's model for years, until high school offered more diversity. Sakura joined the cheerleading club and Tomoyo went with the arts and crafts club. Even now, Sakura didn't know what she wanted out of her next week, let alone the future. Tomoyo, though. . .she was talented, dedicated, and-

Beautiful.

The long black hair, small features, so very classic in their delicateness; large eyes, almost violet in their dark hues. Sakura was the anomaly, a kickback to foreign western blood somewhere in her family line. Her eyes always drew on looks of interest and curiosity, and her hair- since adulthood, new acquaintances always assumed it was dyed. If it wasn't for her name, slight build, and shape of her eyes, people might not even believe her to be Japanese. For one summer, when she was sixteen, she had dyed her hair a more common black, just to see what she might look like.

Her dad had looked at her with such a sad expression that Sakura spent the next six weeks hiding her hair under hats and kerchiefs.

She leaned against the back of her stool, pushing aside her finished espresso. Tomoyo's studio was always a frenzy of energy and chaos. Models dashing about half naked, sewing machines droning in the background, an errant photographer or two prowling pensively, and the one bastion of calm was the caffeine bar in the center. The barista had worked there for the past six months, and never forced conversation or demands. It was soothing to have such a comfort in the middle of so much activity.

"I wonder why he didn't take it. . ." she mused aloud.

"Take 'it'?"

Sakura looked up, surprised by the barista's words. He smiled at her pleasantly, though, and so she nodded, explaining briefly. "Someone broke into my flat and tried to take something of mine, a violin."

"He wasn't successful?"

Again, she nodded. "I was really surprised, too. After so much effort, he left it behind."

"Did you see what he looked like?"

The steamer hissed and Sakura welcomed a second cup of espresso eagerly. Blowing gently, she stirred in two small cubes of sugar. "Yes, he was surprisingly young. . .he didn't look like one might think a thief would, you know?"

"And have you told the police about him yet?"

Sakura paused, taking a few moments to sip from her cup. The barista was in an oddly talkative mood. She wished she could remember his name. . .he had a peculiar first name, something foreign. A second of distrust struck her, her curiosity at his interest changing into suspicion. But then he smiled again, a smile that stretched his lips and closed his eyes. The second passed.

She shook her head. "No. I promised I wouldn't if he left the violin."

"You are a very unique woman, Kinomoto Sakura-san."

Her green eyes widened at his use of her name. He continued, unaffected. "Most people would have made a report to the police immediately. Sakura-san is either a very forgiving person or-"

"Sa-ku-ra-chan! I want a beer! No, I want amaretto. Let's go!"

Tomoyo had returned, her energy re-vitalized. No one would have ever imagined the demure Tomoyo Daidouji to have grown up into her current personality. Tomoyo seized Sakura's arm, linking the two; and Sakura called her thanks back to the barista. Once outside, her thoughts quickly returned to their conversation. She could not remember, at any point in the past six months, having ever introduced herself. But the way he said her name. . .he said it with such familiarity.

"Be-er! Call Rika-chan and Takashi-san; it's going to be my treat."

**II**

"**TAKASHI! YOU'RE DRINKING **too much again," Sakura scolded. Her friend just winked and gestured for another round at their table.

"Sakurin is too moderate. We are in the prime of our youth, and besides, did you not hear the story of my famous uncle?" Around the table, eyes were rolled in predictable response. "Yes, yes. You see, he was famous for being Japan's first Beer Master. He once drank two full barrels and still, he could recite all twelve thousand of the golden principles." He nodded emphatically and then finished with his signature: "True story."

"Yamazaki-san is always telling false stories," Rika stated primly. Unlike the rest of the table, she only had one glass in front of her, barely touched.

"Rika-chan must call me Takashi-kun, right? We are friends, why still so formal," Takashi pouted.

Rika blushed at his words, her sensibilities noticeably shocked. "I could never. . ."

"Rika-chan is only informal with Terada-sensei, Takashi-san. Stop flirting. Chiharu-chan will beat you," Tomoyo warned, the only sign of her inebriation being the slight color in her cheeks. "Let's call her now and ask if her if she approves of your flirting."

Sakura sighed into her drink, some fruity concoction Tomoyo had ordered for her, and watched as the two wrestled over Tomoyo's mobile. Rika echoed her sigh, and Sakura looked over in concern. "Rika, is everything okay?"

The petite brunette offered up a weak smile. "Yoshiyuki did not get the promotion. He's on another trip, this one for three weeks."

"I'm sorry. . ."

Rika's eyes softened, and she shook her head. "But it's okay. I know that Yoshiyuki is only working this hard so that we can marry. Because my father said he could not accept a son-in-law who earned so little."

Sakura envied Rika's nature. There was a quiet strength in her friend, blended in with a gentle and caring spirit. She often wished she had some of that same strength. There had been a time, not terribly long ago, that Sakura felt that, for her, the future was made of endless possibilities- and that she need only pluck one dream out and it would surely happen. Somehow, that feeling had weakened since finishing school. There were times when she opened her old school albums and could barely recognize the beaming, energetic girl pictured on its pages as herself.

She missed that girl, missed that liveliness and innocent optimism that had once flowed so effortlessly.

"Have you spoken with Yuu-san at all since-" Rika's words halted at the expression on her friend's face. "I'm sorry, Sakura, I shouldn't mention it.

Sakura considered her drink glumly, knowing that seven months should have been more than enough time to have gotten over _that_. "No, it's all right," she reassured with a wan smile. "Yuu is getting married. I received an invitation. It's good that he's happy now."

"Oh, Sakura, I'm sorry."

She forced some strength into her smile and shook her head. "Really, it's good. As much as we were together, I don't think I ever made him very happy. He needed someone who could provoke him, stand up to him, prevent him from bullying. I couldn't do that."

"There's nothing wrong with the way you are. Sakura shouldn't think such things." Rika smiled at her gently and patted her shoulder. "Yuu-san is going to realize one day that he lost something very precious."

The quiet moment did not last long. The quarrel over the mobile ended and new adventures were necessary.

"O-K! It's time for the Tomoyo-chan and Takashi-cchii duet karaoke!"

Both Sakura and Rika turned their heads toward the small circular landing that held a karaoke station. Tomoyo had discarded her drink for the microphone, and beside her, Takashi was grinning, each hand holding a half empty soju bottle.

"I suggest _Shuudensha_ by Tsuraiku!" Takashi offered with a slight slur. A cheer came from another table, and Sakura let her chin fall into her palm, unable to prevent the depression that was settling over her. It had only been recently that she had managed to not think about Yuu and wonder what he was doing. Her second successful goukon has resulted in two years, one month, and fourteen days spent together, until he quietly explained once morning that he had found someone else, someone who made him _feel_.

At that time, _Shuudensha_ had been playing on the car radio.

_(Late night express_

_Caught the six and five-_

_Wilted petals on his_

_sweater.)_

She wanted to blame the break-up on him, but honesty had always been one of her stronger failings. She may have loved him, but she had never been _in _love with him. He made her laugh; he was spontaneous and carefree. He would surprise her with treasure hunts that ended up with him and a picnic. He made her feel like she was twelve years old again, a time in her life when everything had been simple and happy. Yuu had been-

_(This stop_

_And-_

_. . .my life. . ._

_A train ride)_

She hung her head. "This is too sad a song. "

Tomoyo fell into the chair next to Sakura, clearly satisfied. "Sakura-chan should get up and sing, too. Get all energetic."

Sakura held up a hand. "No, thank-you."

"Sakurin could play the piano for us."

"Oh, piano. Play for us," Rika seconded Takashi's suggestion.

"Just one song." She was rewarded with three grins, and reluctantly, she took a seat at the petite grande that sat in the corner. She raised her hands above the keys and then fell into, with a crooked smile, the first measures to another of Tsuraiku's songs. Another of their more bittersweet melodies, its lyrics spoke of dreaming of flying, of freedom from self and others. The song's words tried to break from the inevitable, the mundane- the undeniable loss to routine and the ordinary. She remembered being fifteen years old and turning the radio off every time it played. How strange that now, at the age of twenty-five, she should find solace in it. How strange that ten years could transform a song from depressing to wistful. She closed her eyes; there was only the piano, her fingers, and the notes that filled the air.

It was an hour before she next looked up from the keys. The only customers left were her friends and a lone figure in a corner, hidden by the shadows.

**III**

**IT WAS ANOTHER** late work night; it was another hand-off from her manager. The office was once again empty and barely lit when she left, and the plastic bag around her wrist held another carton of eggs and noodles. She walked, humming tunelessly, stepping from one patch of street light to the next. She had been carrying around the resignation notice for three days now, waiting for the moment when she would be brave enough to turn it in. She had more than enough saved to take her time and find a job more to her liking. She could even just lounge around for a month or two, take a break from all of it. What would it be like to have time again to do things without planning? To be impulsive again?

She could even go back to Tomoeda again, visit all the old haunts.

Sakura paused in front of her doorway, her keys withdrawn and the hallway silent. She wouldn't mind being able to open the door to some place different for a few days. Perhaps, she might even take a trip down to the south, to Naha and sit in the sand. Tomoyo would want to come, of course, and maybe by then Takashi and Chiharu might have made-

Her door had arrived.

"I'm home."

And then, as was habit, but with less energy, "Wel-"

"-come home."

He was behind her and blocking the only exit within seconds. She gaped, shocked, and did not notice as the plastic bag slipped from her wrist, the sound of breaking eggshells registering only dimly. He stared at her, unsmilingly, and in the halo of the overhead light, she could see him clearly: tall and wiry, his jaw had a stubborn edge to it, and his eyes- she couldn't see their color, they were too easily hidden behind a shaggy mane of tousled hair, a dark brown that made her think of melted chocolate- she suddenly wished to see his eyes. There was a familiarity in his posture that unnerved her.

"You have made a very simple thing into a very complicated one," he stated.

Nervously, Sakura stepped back, edging toward the rear sliding window. "Wh-what do you want?" Her words were an unconscious echo from their last meeting.

He sighed and his features grew annoyed. "That doesn't matter anymore. Didn't you notice the boxes in the hallway on Monday?"

She blinked at him. "Eh?"

"Then you must have seen the workers moving those boxes into the apartment next to yours?"

She thought back briefly; now that he had mentioned it, she did remember seeing quite a few more people that day in the building than ordinarily. And she had tripped over one of those boxes; but what did that-

"Are you stupid?"

Again, she blinked at him. "Eh?"

"Is this the only word you know?" He sagged, his hand pressed against his forehead. "I've been following you every day for the whole week. "

Her knees gave in and she teetered to the ground in an awkward sprawl. She looked up at him, read the incredulity in his expression, and then she understood. She felt the unsolicited desire to giggle; to fall stiff with laughter until her lungs choked and her skin trembled. Behind the threatening mental hysteria rose up more practical concerns, such as: Why was he back in her apartment? What did he want with her brother's violin? Why was he following her? And why, oh why, had he moved in next to her?

Another thought struck her and she paled. Her hand rose to her throat. "You- you're a stalker," she said, her voice an odd mix of fear and disapproval.

He stared at her as if she had suddenly grown an extra nose. "Who is a stalker?" He crouched down in front of her, eyes disbelieving. "You really are stupid."

"But you can't live here! You're a-" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "a criminal. Hurry up and leave."

She encouraged his departure with a generous push toward the door. He reached around her with an arm and pointed to the glass display case. "Then you're fine if I take that violin with me."

"Absolutely not." Her words arrived by pure reflex and she knocked his arm away. He gave a slight nod, as if that clearly explained matters. Sakura bristled; it most certainly did not.

"But why then? Why are you here, doing this?" She couldn't fathom any reason for such behavior.

He straightened abruptly, and she tipped forward precariously. "My apologies." He flashed a smile, the gesture heavy with insincerity.

But she was not to be so easily distracted, although the temptation was high. She really did feel that most of her emotions could be satiated if she landed one good kick to his knees. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Oi. Who's asking questions?" Sakura tried not to cringe when he reared toward her. He stopped inches from her, and his expression turned thoughtful. "I was told this: There are circumstances."

She blinked intelligently and then considered the flooring; she had forgotten to remove her shoes. Her heels had made fine work of the mats. Her landlord would not be pleased. Unless. . . she eyed her would be thief and now neighbor with consideration; her eyes widened. He was leaving! Awkwardly, Sakura scrambled up from the floor and stumbled after him, grabbing his sleeve. "Wait. I have another question."

He paused at her touch, "So now you want me to stay?"

A scornful twist of her lips was the answer to that inanity; she continued with her question doggedly. "Please then, what's your name?"

His shoulders stiffened, and nervously, she pulled her hand back to her side. "Idiot. Is that the sort of thing you ask in this kind of situation?"

She bit her lip; unfairly so, he did still have a point. She couldn't help it, though; how was anyone supposed to know the sort of thing to say in _this kind of situation_?

"Idiot," he repeated. "You're supposed to threaten to call the police or try to attack me with your purse. You're not supposed to have a conversation when there's an uninvited man in your home. Silly woman. Don't you know that I'm dangerous?"

"Eh?" She felt a slight pressure on her brow, the barest of touches, in the shape of a hand larger than her own. Her green eyes flew upward, and this stranger, this self proclaimed dangerous man, seemed to be smiling at her. Minus the actual physical representation of said smile, though; his lips were distinctly frowning. She stared, confused. "Eh?"

"Li Syaoran." He stepped deeply into the hallway, the ceiling lamp sputtering into darkness with his movement. "You should clean that up."

She glanced down at his words, her eyes registering the mess of egg shell and yolk her stocking feet were standing in. When she lifted her head again, he had vanished into the door next to hers. Weakly, she pushed her door closed and fell against it. Ignoring the mess, she slipped down to her knees again.

"Li Syaoran. . ." she repeated to her empty room. It replied with a comforting silence. "Hoe. . ."

**One End**

**TSU.RAI.KU**

_**. . .falling might be the fun part. . .**_


	3. Two

_A/N: Thanks again for the encouraging reviews- they're always appreciated and definitely enjoyed. The story will be continued as weekly update. I am in search of a dependable beta-reader, so if there are any volunteers, please let me know. Thanks again, and as always, read and review._

_Disclaimer: CLAMP owns all._

_**TSU RAI KU**_

___**. . .it's the catching that's terrifying. . .**_

___by: carpetfibers_

**Two**

**THE KNOCK ON **her door proved almost too much for her. She had spent the night waking every few minutes, convinced that _that _man, that Li Syaoran, had crept into her room, again, to fulfill whatever strange agenda he was following. She must have managed a continuous hour or two at some point, because when she next awoke, it was to a rosy sky and her alarm clock. The knock came minutes later. Trepidatiously, Sakura tiptoed toward the door, wishing, not for the first time, that the building had at least come with more modern doors, the sort that held peep holes.

Her hand rested on the handle, and then the knocker's voice slipped through and surprised her into opening it. Tomoyo grinned at her, a contented air to her features that threatened to overwhelm the frail state of Sakura's sensibilities. The urge to start laughing struck her once again, and she moved back to allow her friend entrance.

"Good morning, Sakura-chan. Because you refused to let your best friend in the _entire _world stay over and take care you, I spent the night worried that some strange criminal was going to take you away from me." She held up a small box from a nearby bakery. "To make up for causing such worry, you have to eat breakfast with me."

As Sakura eyed her friend, she couldn't help but note that a sleepless night for both of them returned two very different results. Beneath her eyes spread purple smudges and too puffy cheeks; her hair hung brittle and stringy over her face, and her hands felt dry and clumsy in their movements. Tomoyo, however, presented a picture of perfection: stylish clothes that spoke both creativity and good taste, shining hair that hung in gentle waves midway down her back, and a face impeccably dressed with the lightest touches of make-up.

Depression joined the emotional party Sakura's headache was indulging in.

Tomoyo, however, seemed to have noticed all and withdrew from her fashionable purse an assortment of clothes, brushes, curling irons, and, impossibly, a pair of shoes. She smiled pleasantly, her lips parting in natural perfection. "I won't feel better until you let me pamper and pet you a bit," she warned, brandishing one of the brushes. "Sakura-chan should know better than to avoid her dearest friend's concerns. It makes me anxious."

Sakura acquiesced without protest. It was soothing to have her friend re-enact a ritual that had started over fifteen years earlier, when Tomoyo received her first video camera and sewing machine. The costumes covered a wide myriad of areas from holiday themes to period pieces to cosplay; Sakura had been measured and pinned, decorated and stripped, and each moment had ended with Tomoyo gazing in satisfaction and purring with contentedness. Her friend, older and more talented than ever, had changed very little during those years.

Sakura realized, gazing into the mirror and admiring the skill with which her reluctant hair had been pinned up and back, that Tomoyo had grown up into a slightly more free spirited version of her business woman mother, Daidouji Sonomi. She said as much a minute later as she slipped into the new shoes. Despite the heels' height, she felt none of the discomfort that normally accompanied them.

Tomoyo's eyes brightened warmly at the compliment. "Okaasan would be happy to hear you say that. She was just as involved in our projects growing up as we were; sometimes, I think, she might have enjoyed it even more than I did. And you know, it's as Okaasan says, Sakura-chan looks more and more like Nadeshiko-san every day."

Sakura's heart paused, every so briefly, at the mention of her beautiful mother's name. She kept her mother's photograph beside one of her father in the same glass case that held her brother's violin. It occurred to her, somewhat painfully, that she couldn't remember the last time she had greeted them and shared the events of her life. Her days really had become things of routine.

Her green eyes noticeably dimmed as her daily depression revived its normal reminders. The resignation notice was still in her purse, waiting for her to summon up the courage to present it.

"Oh, Sakura-chan has a new neighbor."

She looked up at her friend's words, recognizing that they were stalled in the hallway just beyond the thief's- _Li Syaoran_ that was- room. Tomoyo was peering at the door with open curiosity, and as Sakura finished locking her flat, she realized what drew that interest. Li was posing in his doorway, shirtless and appearing barely awake. She gaped at him, more surprised by the pleasant smile on his face than his appearance.

Tomoyo leaned forward, her delicate features alit with intrigue. Sakura stepped between them, hoping to restrain the interaction to an extreme minimum. "Li-san just recently moved in which is sure to have him very busy. We shouldn't inconvenience him with questions so early in the morning."

Li's hand shaped into a gun point, that unexpected smile of his stretching into playfulness. "Daidouji Tomoyo-san. . .right?"

Tomoyo fairly buzzed with pleasure. "Li-san and Sakura-chan are such friends already?"

Sakura prayed that Li would vanish back into his room and focus on whatever it was he moved here to work on. Instead, the bare-chested man stretched minutely and lazed sanguinely against the frame. Her mouth fell on its own accordance. Just what sort of body language was that?

"It is good to be friendly with neighbors."

His words demanded her immediate action. Forcefully, she attached herself to Tomoyo's silk covered arm and dragged the girl away, throwing pointed glares over her shoulder at Li as they went. The second Tomoyo's attention was taken away, his expression settled into one of surly concentration. Sakura pushed back her annoyance at his easy acting; Tomoyo was sure to have a wrong impression.

When Tomoyo spoke, Sakura's concerns were immediately validated. "I knew there was something other than that thief bothering Sakura-chan. Sakura-chan is only ever depressed when a man is on her mind."

Sakura fought to contain her horror. Entirely the wrong impression. "Li-san is only a neighbor; Tomoyo-chan reads too much into it. He speaks that way to every woman."

Tomoyo's eyebrows rose skeptically. "There's nothing wrong with it. Yuu-san ended a long time ago now, Sakura-chan. It's okay to move on."

"Honestly, I promise, the only thing I want from that man," she found that her mouth considered even his name a chore, "is avoidance."

The designer seemed unconvinced, still. But a sudden light filled Tomoyo's dark, violet patched eyes, and Sakura found herself more afraid of what was to come. Her best friend had an inconvenient habit of turning tables when presented with a quandary. The first word did it in. "Goukon!"

Sakura wilted, feeling her lack of sleep more so than ever. She struggled to think of an excuse to escape. "I can't. Endo-san needs some work done by today and I'll be on it until very late."

"Goukon!" Tomoyo cheered again, her voice quiet despite the exuberance. "Don't worry; it'll be fun." The woman completely ignored the excuse, plainly well used to Sakura's lack of enthusiasm on the subject. "Rika-chan and Takashi-san will be there, plus that cute girl from the cake shop and Iku-chan- she's my new assistant. Takashi-san told me that he's inviting only doctors tonight- plastic surgeons most likely."

"Doctors?" The last goukon she had attended, Takashi had invited a group of professional party promoters; the end result had been just as disastrous as anyone with sense might predict. "Really, Tomoyo-chan, I don't think-"

"Sa-ku-ra." Tomoyo steered around, her hands on her hips and her expression stubborn. "No one expects Sakura-chan to flirt and date and get married tonight. Even if you don't find someone to like, meeting new people is good, too, right?"

Her resolve weakened. She knew the purpose of a group date was to find a potential match, and to then hopefully have it develop into something more. She was twenty-five already; many of her co-workers had presented themselves to omiai agencies. Sakura had been encouraged more than once to consider the same tactic. Somehow though, her heart didn't set right with the idea that love could be so easily dismissed.

Perhaps. . .it would be as Tomoyo said. Meeting new people could be good, too. Tomoyo read the decision before Sakura could open her mouth to give in.

"Good, good. Come straight to the studio after work. I have the perfect dress for you; I just finished it yesterday. The color will bring out your eyes so much so that we'll all be left dateless. Sakura-chan will have to remember not to be greedy."

"Tomoyo-chan. . ." The well practiced teasing resulted in an immediate flushing of her cheeks. "Really."

Her friend's arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders tightly, for a brief moment. The public embrace drew all the attention on the bus, but Sakura returned the gesture gratefully. "Sakura-chan is my most important person after all. Sakura-chan looks better with a smile."

Her lips obeyed the observation, and with their curving, she felt some of her normal energy restore itself. Her friend, her dear and beautiful friend really did know exactly how to lift her spirits.

**II**

******IT WAS MID **afternoon before the buzz in the central pen finally died down to its normal hushed roar. The rumors had managed a full circuit. One story stated that he had been caught embezzling and had drowned himself after expressing his regret. Another insisted that he had witnessed a terrible yakuza crime and was now under police protection with a new identity. The biggest favorite, though, suggested that he had run away with the receptionist on the tenth floor who was also missing that day. As it was, Jiro Endo was not in his office and his work staff had received no explanations as for why.

Sakura breathed with more ease than she had in the past four years. For once, there was only _her _work to focus on, and it was amazing how much less stress that produced. She even had time to respond to emails, of which there were nearly two weeks' worth waiting for her notice and possible reply. She scanned the subject headings, frowning over a few, deleting some others, and one she opened immediately.

Outrageous-and-loving-it Yanagisawa Naoko had finally written.

Naoko had much enthusiasm about her newest location, a movie set in southern Romania. Her latest script for a drama was centered on a pair of step-siblings who are separated after a terrible plane accident; the girl gets adopted by a well known painter and grows up in Romania. The boy ends up being taken in by an unwilling aunt back in Japan. The two find each other, years later, and then the real drama begins. Sakura smiled fondly while reading. Naoko had been very much like Tomoyo when they were growing up, always creative and with a dream from early on. She wrote film scripts now, and was in huge demand after the success of her summer drama from the year before.

Perhaps Tomoyo would be called in to do the wardrobe for the cast.

A sudden silence filtered its way through the pen, and a little disturbed, she looked up from her computer screen. Her pod mate leaned over, shoulders hunched in curiosity. "Hey, but Kinomoto-san, isn't that the President?"

Sakura nodded, her own eyes intent on the tall, fully bald man who stooped through the doorway. Behind him trailed an entourage of uniformly clothed office workers, each with mobiles to their ears and folders at their sides. "It's him. Is the President visiting the building?"

It was highly unusual for the President himself to come to the design department. The top floor was reserved for his offices, and the closest anyone ever reached to meeting him only came after years of service and numerous promotions. The President was the president, after all. Sakura's pod mate rolled her chair closer. "Hey, but Kinomoto-san, isn't this because of Endo-san and the affair?"

Sakura's lips pursed reproachfully; she found it difficult to believe that Endo Jiro was the sort of man to endanger his job by indulging in an office romance, especially with a married woman. She found it much more likely that his sloppy habits had finally gained the notice of higher-ups. She kept her thoughts to herself, however.

"Hey, but Kinomoto-san, isn't this very strange? Kinomoto-san?"

And then, in a very different sort of voice from the persistent pod mate:

"Kinomoto Sakura-san?"

She nearly fell from her chair at the call; it was plainly coming from the tall President who stood frowning at the work pen's entrance. The slight platform only gave his height further length, and nervously, Sakura stood up and bowed in stilted greeting.

"Good then, Kinomoto-san, I'll be depending on you for today. Endo-san has received a transfer to a new department. Your new manager will arrive tomorrow." The President's hand opened briefly and immediately one of his entourage rushed forward, head bent in a perfect 45 degree angle, and arm extended with a folder in tow. Said folder was pushed into Sakura's still stricken hands.

"A new manager?" she repeated, barely managing not to stutter.

The President nodded, a meager smile crossing his wrinkled face for a brief second. "Endo-san has led me to expect that Kinomoto-san is quite capable of starting the preparations for this new project. The new client is an old acquaintance of mine, and has received full assurance that his desires will be met and exceeded. Understood?"

Not trusting her voice, especially with the President's undivided attention, Sakura only bowed, clutching the folder to her chest. She stayed in that position until all sounds of the President and his entourage had left the pen. Her knees began to buckle and an observant co-worker pushed her chair forward just in time to catch her. The noise level from before quickly returned, and most of it was directed toward her. Congratulations and encouragement and numerous cries for information; she tried to pull herself together, straightening her shoulders as she went.

The inquiries silenced as she opened the folder and pulled out the abstract. Several pictures of a large, but fairly worn down looking temple tumbled onto her lap. She scanned the paper and the crowd stepped back as her features softened in confusion. "The President's friend wants to make a fortune teller shop?"

She read on, rising from her chair as she went. Sakura barely noticed the room made for her unconscious pacing. When she glanced up, she found her co-workers, a small team of only a dozen, staring at her, waiting in anticipation. Smiling nervously, she bowed and offered up the folder. "Please, let's work hard together."

Three hours later, Sakura remembered her promise to Tomoyo that morning, and dashed out from the building. For once, she wasn't the last to leave. The resignation notice still waited in her purse, completely forgotten.

******III**

******"****KINOMOTO-SAN. . .THAT IS**, _Sakura_-san, what sort of work do you do?"

It didn't seem to matter that that same question had been posed to the group no more than ten minutes before. Sakura supposed it was possible that the doctor was getting a little drunk. Between Tomoyo and Takashi, the glasses were never empty. She drummed up a polite smile and sipped from her cup, attempting to catch her best friend's gaze from across the table. No dice.

"I'm a project designer and editor at Avalon Industries."

"Oh, like buildings and homes?" The doctor seemed actually interested. Her smile was a little less forced; perhaps the alcohol was finally getting to her as well.

"Sometimes. Mostly though it's small, private businesses, like restaurants and novelty stores. Actually, today my department received a new project- an old Shinto temple."

The doctor nodded and smiled, pulling his chair closer to her. She wished she remembered his name; would it be rude to ask him for it? Her eyes crossed back to Tomoyo again- she was pouring something into Rika's glass that looked suspiciously colorless. Poor Rika.

"And so Sakura-san, how long have you lived in Tokyo?"

Another question already answered earlier. Goukons had a fairly reliable timetable. The first thirty minutes were devoted to introductions that included hometown, age, job, and some special interest or factoid about oneself. Sakura's introduction generally went along the line of her saying two words and Tomoyo and Takashi finishing it for her. She sipped from her glass again; she couldn't remember what her drink was called. . .it, too, was suspiciously colorless, and tasted- she sipped again and ran the liquid over her tongue consideringly- like apples.

"Five years now. I moved here after finishing vocational school."

The doctor seemed pleased by her response and scooted even closer, his face near enough that Sakura could make out the strangely shaped birth mark near his hair line. Nervously, she forced her gaze elsewhere, her eyes landing on Tomoyo, who was now struggling with Takashi who appeared to be falling from his chair, and finally crossing to the bar at the back of the restaurant. She nearly fell from her chair herself when she realized who she was staring at- and that he was most noticeably staring back.

Glaring was probably the better word for it, she decided a minute later once her brain returned to functioning.

_Li Syaoran_. He had done something with his hair that graduated it from unkempt to finely tousled. He was dressed 'down' as Tomoyo would say, with tailored slacks and a light blue dress shirt, unbuttoned in that casual style that was always hit or miss. Sakura refused to acknowledge which it was in this case; there were far more important things to consider than that criminal's change in wardrobe. Desperately, she tried to get Tomoyo's attention from across the table. Her friend remained oblivious, only waving obliquely and making encouraging gestures.

Sakura gave up and tried for a saner friend; Rika, darling soul that she was, picked upon her distress instantly but only aided in looking confusedly toward the bar. The only person who seemed to pick up on her intentions was the doctor who decided that six inches of separation needed to be decreased. She leaned back from her chair, trying to pull away as he moved even closer to her.

"Sakura-san, do you know that man?"

Of course, the nameless doctor- maybe it was Tokoyama?- would be the one to figure it out. But Sakura could hardly explain the situation; it wasn't a rational situation at all. Maybe Li was right, maybe she was just an idiot, a silly woman. Who forgives a man who breaks into her apartment- not once, but twice? Unconsciously, she threw back the rest of her glass; she instantly regretted it. The doctor's birth mark seemed to double in quantity.

"Is he perhaps a co-worker of yours?" The hopefulness in the doctor's tone was unmistakable. "Maybe a blood relative?"

"No, no. . .um," What was his name? Yokotama? "No, see, he's my. . ." She decided to tell the truth. "He's my neighbor."

Just part of the truth. The whole part of her neighbor also being a burglar and potentially crazed stalker was omitted. Sakura decided that if anyone chose to scold her later one, she would blame the alcohol and therefore, Tomoyo since she had provided the alcohol. "He just moved in recently."

"Ah. . .good." The doctor's relief emanated from the mere five inches he sat away from her. Sakura tried to lean back even further, but Iku-chan's- or whatever her name was- chair prevented it. "I was thinking that Sakura-san has very interesting eyes. Are they-"

"Oh!" She succeeded in falling from her chair and yanked herself back up to table level, hoping that what she'd seen had been only the alcohol and not reality. But no, she realized with ever growing anxiety, that criminal, that _Li Syaoran_ was walking towards her. Not only that, but he had made eye contact, _glared_, observed the doctor's attention, and then smiled. It was like he operated on a switch. To Kinomoto Sakura, he was rude and obstinate; to everyone around her, he transformed into someone pleasant and agreeable.

So intent on her impending doom was she that Sakura hardly noticed that the doctor- Katoyama! That was his name!- had caught her elbow and was assisting her back to her chair. He was talking to her as well. Something about her eyes.

"-all spend a fortune on colored contacts. I've always wondered: is it because women think men will find it exotic?"

"I'm sorry?"

He tried again. "Sakura-san's eye color- I was asking if you wear the contacts because you think men like it."

"You think she's wearing contacts? You should look closer- those are natural." Li smiled, much like he had that morning, with seemingly genuine affability. "_Sakura_'s eyes are completely natural."

Unlike her gestures and motions from earlier, Li's intimate use of her name brought the full attention of her three friends and the rest of the party in totality. Katoyama looked annoyed. "Sakura-san's neighbor speaks so informally with you. Is Sakura-san such a close friend already?"

Sakura opened her mouth to explain and then promptly closed it, unsure of what words, if any, would fix the situation. Li slid into a free chair seamlessly, still smiling. "I should think _Sakura _and I are certainly on closer terms than yourself-"

"Katoyama," the doctor supplied curtly, and then with a fair shade of arrogance: "Doctor Katoyama."

Li did not reciprocate the introduction. Instead, he drank deeply from a glass Tomoyo- Sakura shot a glare of her own at the woman, who only beamed serenely from across the way- pushed his way. Finished, he turned the full potency of his smile toward Sakura and she quailed beneath it. Could no one else notice the tightness with which he held his jaw? He was so obviously acting! What she couldn't understand was why.

"Well, if _Sakura _is through playing with Yama-cchi, then-"

"Katoyama!" The doctor interrupted.

Li continued, seemingly unperturbed. "Then maybe _Sakura _can walk her _boyfriend _home."

Rika gasped, albeit with restraint; Tomoyo clapped, and Takashi managed to knock his drink and three others into Iku-chan's lap. Katoyama marched away angrily with as much pride as one could manage when marching away from a table consisting of several drunks, one shell-shocked woman, and one- of this she was now most certain- stalker. Only a stalker could make such claims.

Why she allowed him to grab her wrist and drag her outside to the sidewalk was beyond her. If anyone asked, she would again blame the alcohol, which in turn meant she blamed Tomoyo. It took two and a half blocks before she regained enough of her sobriety to yank herself free and cement herself into the pavement. Li turned around passively and crossed his arms, his mouth returning to its normal habit of frowning.

"What?" He asked at last.

"Stalk-er. Definitely a stalker." The words said, she felt inordinately better. Almost well enough to recognize that she was outside in the gauzy dress Tomoyo had forced her into and it was far too cold a night to be in such a condition.

"Who is a stalker?"

"You!" She pronounced, stabbing at the air with her purse. "Someone who follows a woman to a bar and interrupts a party to announce he is her boyfriend when she most certainly does not have a boyfriend. Such a person can only be a stalker."

"Id-iot," he mouthed in a perfect mockery of her earlier accusation. She flushed angrily and attempted to do some angry marching of her own. He was, unfortunately, far more nimble. He seized her wrist again, and so, she waited, not having either the energy or the genuine will to resist.

"Idiot," he repeated. "What sort of idiot woman, after having her apartment broken into for unknown reasons, then goes and meets other strange men who act too friendly on first acquaintance? _This_," he poked her forehead pointedly, "kind of woman does that sort of thing."

Sakura tried to follow his reasoning, but her own logic wove its way through midway, tangling the two intolerably. She shook her head, attempting to clear the confusion. "So, Li-san is saying that it is an idiot who thinks a man who breaks into her apartment, leaves without taking anything, moves into the room next to hers after following her around for a week, and then tells all her friends that he's her boyfriend- Li-san is saying that a woman who would think a man like that is a stalker is an idiot?"

"You're starting from a faulty basis. You're presuming that any of those actions have anything to do with the wom-" he broke off, annoyed. "Why am I explaining this to you? Just do what you're told."

The wind struck then, reminding her of its seasonal existence. The flash of chilled air broke off the rest of her alcohol induced stupor. She shivered and then bristled, overwhelmed all at once with pent up frustration. She struggled to get in front of him, blocking his steps, and plied her open palm against his chest. He halted at her expression.

"I need better than that. Li-san is a criminal, but then he is a very bad one because he leaves behind what he intends to steal. And then Li-san is a stalker, but he acts like he is protecting something. Li-san is suddenly in my life, and I need to know at least something: why is he here? Why are _you _here?"

Her voice echoed too loudly in the empty sidewalk, the late hour already affecting the lights on the pavement. His face was quickly being reduced to shadows without expression and nervously, she pulled back her hand and turned her head, borrowing the fall of her hair as cover from his eyes. She heard his sigh first and then the rustle of clothing. Something heavy landed on her shoulders, and when she looked up, it was out of surprise. Perhaps it was the shadows of the streetlight, but he seemed to avoid her gaze. She pulled the jacket around her bare shoulders gratefully.

"Thank-"

He interrupted. "No more questions after this- understood? I was hired to retrieve that violin of yours, but after-" he seemed to search for the proper word, "- after the _circumstances _changed, the job changed. Now I am to protect it and by extension, you as well. There are people who are interested in it and would stoop to certain measures to gain it."

It was a ludicrous explanation, but Sakura believed it nevertheless. Still though, that one answer only birthed more questions. "But why would anyone care about my brother's violin? It's not valuable to anyone other than my brother or myself. Who is your employer then- and why does he want-"

"The deal was no more questions. Just don't go talking to strange men you've never met. Not until I say so."

She ran up again, purposely interrupting his path and held up a hand. "I need a definition of strange then, because Li-san is the strangest person I have met in a very long time." He rebounded so quickly that Sakura stepped back despite her intentions. He loomed over her, his lips for once neither frowning or smiling.

"Strange: anyone who shows unnecessary interest in you."

Li turned mute after that, and three blocks later, Sakura was home, cold, and too tired for anything other than sleep. She didn't even notice that it was her new neighbor who stretched out her futon and pulled the blankets over her shoulders. And she slept straight through the three hours in which he sat on her floor, watching her sleep with the most unfamiliar of expressions. She slept through, and in the morning, when she woke, it was to a headache and her buzzing phone.

Tomoyo had questions.

**********Two End**

**********TSU RAI KU**

___********__**. . .it's the catching that's terrifying. . .**_

_____A/N:__ An 'omiai' refers to an arranged marriage date. Currently, over ten percent of the marriages in Japan originated from arranged circumstances. Omiai agencies will match prospective partners, set up their dates, and facilitate later meetings, all in the hopes of an eventual marriage._


	4. Three

_A/N:__ Thanks again for the reviews and encouragement. This chapter is a bit longer and so it arrived a bit later. In addition, I am still in search for a beta. Any offers would be greatly appreciated. As always, please read and review._

_Disclaimer: __CLAMP owns everything; I only wish I had such talent._

**TSU RAI KU**

_**. . .it's the unknown that ends up terrifying. . .**_

_by: carpetfibers_

**THREE**

**A COMPANY PAID **luncheon was always something to be excited over. It meant an expensive restaurant, a paid afternoon, and, often considered the best part, an open bar. As was usual, Sakura was in charge of ensuring that the revelries did not spin out of control. And she tried her best to do so, honestly- but when the brand new manager, on his welcoming luncheon, encouraged the shenanigans along, she could hardly be blamed for her lack of success. The new manager. . .Her green eyes locked onto the his calmly smiling face; it was not the first time her gaze fell on him.

It was peculiar how changed the man looked from when Sakura last saw him; it was peculiar how a pair of glasses and an expensive suit could change the image of man so very much. He looked nothing like the unprepossessing barista who had worked in Tomoyo's studio just a week earlier.

Hiiragizawa Eriol: a most mysterious individual.

It had been five days since the President's unscheduled visit; four days in which Sakura should have had ample enough time and opportunity to work out her questions. It should have been the easiest thing in the world to ask him, in the mornings on the elevator or in the evenings beside the copier, how it was that he had gone from barista to Avalon Industries department head. Instead, she had allowed certain. . ._distractions_ to draw away her focus.

That other man, that _Li Syaoran_, had been keeping himself unseen and unheard- at least to her eyes and ears. After the first day spent playing secret agent- hiding behind pillars, donning rarely worn sunglasses, and taking out of the way bus routes to work- she had reproved herself. It was one thing to have an unwanted bodyguard lurking about; it was another thing altogether to allow that fact to cause extra stress. If Li's job really was to protect her from these anonymous 'enemies,' then that was just fine. On the other hand, if he really was a crazy person suffering from delusions surrounding her brother's violin- well, then that fact wouldn't change regardless of how much she worried.

By day three, she had almost managed to convince herself that with time she would forget he was out there, somewhere, skulking in the shadows.

"Sakura-san looks as if she is somewhere very far away."

She blinked and then reddened; her manager looked amused. "Ah, Hiiragizawa-san, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be staring."

He rose from his place at the far end of the table- a co-worker immediately fell into the open chair, more drinks in tow. Sakura bit back her sigh; after all, everyone here was an adult. "May I ask what you were thinking about?" he asked, sliding into the seat next to hers. "And please, use my first name."

It surprised her, at first, how easily she fell into a rapport with her new manager. Despite having interacted with him numerous times during his six month time at the caffeine bar, she couldn't have traded words with him more than a handful of times, the longest conversation being their most recent one- the day after her break-in. For whatever reason, she found herself answering his question truthfully.

"Strange things seem to be occurring around me a lot recently, and I'm not entirely sure how to respond to them." She frowned into her glass, the lychee tea barely touched. "But I'm sure Hiir- er, Eriol-san wouldn't be interested in such things."

"Then Sakura-san is mistaken. Doesn't Sakura-san have anyone close, a friend or family member, to rely on?" Eriol's concern felt sincere, and once again, Sakura shared more than she intended to.

"Well, Eriol-san knows Tomoyo-chan already, and she knows a little, but-"

"Your employee sheet says that Sakura-san has an older brother," he interrupted, his words continuing smoothly. "Couldn't you talk to him?"

She felt the pang strongly, a sharp ache that began in her chest and trembled through her arms to her fingers. Her hands clenched tightly around her condensation covered tea glass, the liquid vaporizing against the heat of her palms. Nearly six months had passed since Touya had taken off; nearly a year had passed since their father had been killed. Her family home in Tomoeda- Touya's house now- had only been opened once since their father's death, and in her heart she knew that when she next stepped through that doorway, Touya would still not have returned.

But to explain all that- to explain how her brother had become obsessed and ran off in search of the person responsible for their father's death- to do that would take far more than a friendly lunchtime chat.

Instead, she answered in the barest of terms. "No, I can't."

"Is Sakura-san's brother not available then?"

Her eyes lifted sharply, and she was reminded of the strange conversation she had shared with Eriol only a short time ago. That momentary flicker of suspicion, of wariness, returned; but his unflappable smile and polite ways rejected that kind of feeling. Surely it was concern that drove her manager's questions and not any other kind of motive.

She decided to lie then- a lie used quite frequently in the past. It was the best kind of lie, as some portions of it derived from truth. Touya really had wanted to study abroad, but the fire and their father's death had intervened, and instead he was abroad, doing whatever it was he needed to do. "He's in England, studying anthropology," she explained, her lips twisting unhappily in regret that her words didn't speak an honest fact. "He won't be back for a while still."

Eriol's expression folded into something unreadable. His blue eyes, reminiscent of whichever country he also inherited his name from, looked at her shrewdly, as if weighing something out. His body slouched into a relaxed posture, one leg squared over the other and both elbows resting gently on the table; it was apparent that some decision had been made. His shoulders leaned forward so that even though he hadn't moved his chair or body closer to hers, she still felt him grow nearer.

"Then if I can't help Sakura-san with that problem, let me at least distract you from it."

Her green eyes widened, and nervously, she played with the end of her skirt, worrying the tightly threaded seam. "O-okay."

"The design department needs a special projects leader: what would Sakura-san say to the offer of a promotion?"

A silly word- more a sound than an actual exclamation- something created when she was still a very little girl and fond of silliness; it still slipped from her mouth on occasion, when stressed or greatly surprised. And it fell out now, despite the best of her intentions. "Hoe. . ."

He laughed at her, and she started, realizing that the sound of his laughter was entirely genuine. What so marked her, though, was that in contrast to all his concerned words previously, this rang with an entirely different feel. Sakura stared, her green eyes baffled; if this Eriol now was sincere, then who was that Eriol of only moments before?

Was this perhaps what Li meant when he warned about strange men?

**II**

**THE FRONT GATES** were made from eleventh century teak bark, during the height of the Heian period. The bark had been covered by a second layer of cedar pilings during the later Kamakura Shogunate, as an added defense against warring clans. The cedar was removed shortly after the Battle of Sekigahara, in the mid 1600's. The gates were then treated with blessed oils and staining agents, a process that took nearly two hundred years to fully complete, so meticulous a process as it was. That time of peace quickly ended with the ushering in of the twentieth century. The temple passed into private hands in the 1930's, survived the fire bombings of the 1940's, and managed to resist the government led modernization programs that swept through Japan during the 1980's.

At some point, a former owner painted the teak bark gates an ostentatious red. The color had faded since, and as Sakura regarded the northern wall, the gates merely looked tired. If not for the historical information included by the research department, she might never had guessed at the temple's stubborn resilience. She unlocked the padlock and pulled free the chain that enclosed the gates and without much effort, managed to open the front gates fully.

Her first look inside had her gasping in remembrance. A tree, much like this one, fully blooming and towering with age, had been there as well. That tree marked some of her starkest of memories: when she was seven and she climbed too high, and Touya's new friend from school scurried after her, carrying her down to safety; when she was eleven and discovered her mother's and father's initials etched into a hidden knoll on the trunk; when she was sixteen and cried over her first rejected confession; and when she was twenty-four and spread her father's ashes beside her mother's.

It was just a cherry tree, like so many others, but the way in which it greeted her; she was reminded far too easily of other things.

She made quick note of the large, cherry tree in her notebook, and moved on to the temple itself. It was built simply, as was the norm for the early shrines. Much like the gates, the shrine proper had been constructed of teak and cedar, additions thrown on during the varying periods of changing necessity and other segments removed depending on the aesthetics of the time. Worn shutters hid the large open window spaces; she turned to place a hand on the wall and stopped.

She frowned. Sakura supposed that it was overdue.

"Does Li-san have a sudden desire to admire Heian architecture?"

She saw Li's shoulders raise briefly from his silhouette against the cherry tree. She uncapped her pen and added another note to her observations. The temple could use a re-papering. "I think it might make more sense for Li-san to focus his attentions on guarding my flat if he's so concerned about that violin. Following me around all the time- it doesn't make very much sense to me."

"There's your faulty reasoning again; what does it matter what makes sense to you or not?" Li crossed the small courtyard, his hands hidden in his jeans' pockets. He looked the part of scruffy twenty-something today; strategically placed rents in his t-shirt gave glimpse to flashes of flesh. Still frowning, Sakura ignored his closer proximity and knelt to consider the spattering of plants that grew near the temple's stairs.

"Does Li-san even know the reason for needing the violin?" It had occurred to her, the night before, that it couldn't hurt to ask more questions. As ludicrous and unreal a situation as she was currently in, there might still be some logical reason behind it. And so it went that maybe- just maybe, if she asked enough questions, she might stumble upon the _right _question.

"Part of what makes me good at my job is knowing when to ask questions." His sneakered feet fell into view; like his shirt, they were scuffed and worn, the shoelaces having been bound several times due to breaks and unraveling. Her green eyes narrowed in consideration; maybe today's attire wasn't a disguise after all. Maybe in Li's life- his _real _life- he really was just a scruffy twenty-something.

"And what sort of job is that, exactly? What sort of job employs Li-san to break into apartments, steal things, behave like a stalker-" Sakura caught the slightest of twitches from his lips; she continued, unhindered and still crouching near the earth. "-and then declare himself a bodyguard over a violin's temporary owner?"

"It's a specialized profession. I wouldn't expect _you_ to know of it."

She straightened, wincing slightly as her knees cracked. There was something in the way he continued to refer to her, his informal address grating on her nerves irritatingly. She closed her folder and replaced her pen in her purse. Her hands, as was their unconscious habit, skimmed down the sides of her body, beginning near her ears and ending past her hips. It was a gesture picked up years before, when she was vice president of the cheerleading club in middle school and had to squeeze in stretches and warm-ups between the last two periods of the day. She would sit in her desk, extend her legs, and then-

It soothed her now, and her arms moved by muscle memory alone. She turned, lips stilled curved downward, and caught his eye, motioning with her chin toward the gates. "I'm done here for now. I'll be at my building until late, so Li-san might want to bring along a magazine or bo-"

"By the way," he interrupted casually, "this isn't Heian architecture."

Her frown graduated into a line of consideration. She flipped back through her organized papers, seeking out the background report the company researchers had supplied. "Our research department wrote that it's from the eleventh century."

"Then your research department isn't very good at their job." His expression turned impatient with her continued skepticism. He grabbed her upper arm and half dragged her toward the middle window on the temple's eastern wall. He pointed to a layering of cedar planks, plainly expecting her to notice something that, to him, was glaringly obvious.

She blinked at him; all she could see was wood, just like at any other temple. "Cedar's normal for Shinto temples- we had one just like this where I grew up and it was built during the same century."

"If it was, then its planking certainly wasn't thatched in this manner. See here?" He ran a finger down a stained lining that mirrored crooked tee's. "Early eighth century, Nara period. The gates are younger, probably added on by Buddhist missionaries and then adapted by the temple's original monks."

Sakura watched his face as he spoke, his expression completely unlike any of the ones she had observed from him before. The tightness around his lips loosened, their believed thinness plumping to match a sudden roundness to his cheeks. Even his eyes, their brown shades normally tainted by calculation, warmed into an earthen color. She realized, as he finished, that this must be a subject he cared about.

"Li-san likes history," she said, her voice gaining a wondering quality to it. "Did Li-san study it before?"

"Once, I did. . ." His words trailed off, and with a brief closing of his eyes, his lips returned to their reserved tightness. His eyes lost their richness, and he was all mystery and confusion again. "Aren't you due back at your office?"

His pointed question drew her back into motion. She tucked close her folder and nodded, letting him lead the way out from the temple. As she bent to relock the gates, she realized that for a few moments, she had thought of Li in terms of how a person might think of another person. She thought of him as someone who, just like her, had dreams and interests, and possibly, regrets as well. "Li-san, can I ask you another question?"

He answered with a jerk of his jaw, the assent almost completely disguised in the motion. She parted her mouth, lips poised to ask. She wondered if he would answer truthfully. "Where are you fr-?"

A car horn burst forth from the street and jarred her words from their completion. She looked at him, lower lip caught roughly beneath her teeth, took in the worn t-shirt and aged jeans, and sighed. "Never mind."

Her heel lifted to move forward, and then-

"Hong Kong."

She didn't quite understand why her next step fell forward with such energy, nor could she understand the grin that tugged up from the corners of her lips. Somehow, that short answer made her afternoon brighter.

**III**

**DECIDING UPON THE** type of rice to buy should not have been such a time-consuming activity. Brown rice, white rice, long-grain rice, short-grain rice, sticky rice, jasmine rice, instant rice, dessert rice- there was good cause for why Sakura's fridge and pantry were so rarely filled. She avoided markets and grocery stores as much as possible. The local convenience store was much more easily handled; it had four aisles, only two of which displayed food stuffs on their shelves. Its carried staples were almost exclusively of the five-minute-prep variety: ramen noodle types, shrimp crisps, milk puddings, health tonics, and air sealed bags of dried fish. The super market was so much. . ._larger_.

Her list was grasped lightly between her thumb and palm, the ten odd items needed written in careful characters. Rice was only the second item, and already Sakura had been in the store for nearly thirty minutes, her current position accounting for two thirds of that time. Her free hand would rise to one shelf, content to take the box of rice sitting there, and then drop back to her side. Her lips would purse, poised in hesitance. Her eyes clouded with the responsibility of such a variety of choices. It was, she was- all this vacillating was-

Really agonizing.

"You really are an idiot." His voice came from behind her elbow, rich with disbelief and frustration.

Her chin turned, her lips surprised out of their concentration, and stared. "Eh? Li-san?"

He took her shopping bag from her arm roughly and snatched away her list. "There is no one greater. Only a true idiot spends so much time on such a small decision." His eyes quickly scanned her list. "What's the rice going to be used for?"

"Eh?" For whatever reason, despite his having followed her around everywhere, she somehow found it perplexing that he should have trailed after her even into a grocery store. "Li-san is here, too?"

"Dummy. My job is to watch over you, that means where you go, I go." He motioned with the list, the gesture all exasperation. "But even I get impatient when a silly, idiot woman stands around making ridiculous faces at a shelf filled with rice."

Scowling slightly, she grabbed her list back and stuffed it hurriedly into her pocket. "Just who's a silly, idiot woman? It's my list, my groceries. If you're so bored, you can go away."

"Don't be foolish. Just tell me what you're going to use the rice for." He made no movement to reclaim the list, and Sakura swelled slightly beneath the tiny victory. His question, however, unfortunately proffered no immediate answer.

She pretended loftiness. "For the benefit of a well nourished stomach and the encouragement of Japan's farmers."

Li stared at her, his mouth unmoving; his expression said the words well enough though: _Idiot. Dummy. Silly woman._ She hung her head. "I hadn't really decided. I guess for breakfast mostly and then leftovers to have with dinner."

He tossed in a box from the third shelf down and then moved to the left briskly. Half jogging, she bounced forward to keep up with him, his stride far longer than hers. "Where are you going? What kind of rice was that? Was it instant? I normally get instant, but I was thinking that maybe the jasmine kind might make for a nice change, only I hear that brown rice is much better for the stomach. Or-"

Li stopped abruptly and she smashed her forehead neatly into his shoulder. He made no sign of noticing the contact. Rubbing her forehead lightly, she peered around him. He had reached the jarred vegetables. She stepped around him, her eyes eager for the odd dozen varieties of pickled radishes that lined over four levels of shelves. "Daikon!"

But Li had already seized a jar from a shelf above her gaze's direction and was moving on. She gave in to a full run and swung around to block his way, arms extended. "Stop," she ordered, one arm bending forward to display an expectant palm. "Which did you get?"

Li remained quiet, his expression blank, and nonplussed, handed over the jar. Sakura read the blue and gold label aloud. "Kin-ta-me-ko. . ." She looked up, eyes wide. The hundred year old Kyoto based supplier was known for its tasty pickled vegetables, daikon being only one of its more delicious fares. "Li-san knows of Kintame-ko?"

He yanked the jar back and with feigned carelessness threw it back into the shopping bag. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well," she began, stepping aside to allow Li to move forward. "I've lived in Tokyo for five years now, and I only heard about Kintame-ko a few months ago. And Li-san, you're from- hey, wait!"

Li had pulled yet another item down from a shelf and was now marching briskly toward the fresh produce section. Her triumphantly protected shopping list fluttered depressingly in her hand; she realized that Li must have memorized the list from his original glance. She caught back up with him beside the cucumbers. "Listen, Li-san, Kintame-ko is very good, but also expensive. The daikon aren't really necessary, so I only buy the cheap brands for it. Let me go switch-"

"Aren't you Japanese?" He posed this question without ever turning his gaze away from the stacked cucumbers. He occasionally picked one up, considered the nicks and blemishes on the vegetable's skin, and then replaced it for another one to inspect.

"Eh? Yes, but-"

"Then you should know that quality comes before all else."

"Well, yes, however-" she tried again, but he interrupted her once more, finally settling on a cucumber that met up to his specifications.

"Good. Then the Kintame-ko daikon stays. Hurry up, we're almost done." He tossed the latter portion of his address over his shoulder to where Sakura still stood, blinking at the cucumbers, confused as to how such reasoning had resulted in her staying with the more expensive brand.

Startled, she nodded and for the umpteenth time, she scurried after him. An attendant was nearly finished wrapping up something from the seafood section, and Li nodded in acknowledgment as the paper package was handed to him. Li pointed to a line of stretched out squid on ice, motioned for five, and those too were neatly deposited into Li's waiting hands. Sakura took the occupied moment to sneak a glance into her shopping bag. Somehow, her unwanted stalker cum bodyguard had increased her original ten items into almost double that amount.

"Li-san, what is all this? I don't need-" She picked up the bag and eyed its green and brown contents. "I don't need bean sprouts or-" This time, she needed only a cursory glance to recognize the vegetable. "Or leeks. One person cannot eat all this."

A snatched bundle of lotus root joined the bag's contents despite her continued protests. Li paused, by the register, to gaze down at her. He continued with his former silence, his angular features once again relaxed into non-expression. As the seconds drew on, Sakura's fingers found themselves plucking nervously at the edges of her sweater. Those same fingers quickly moved on to smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her flowered skirt. A slight twitch from Li's lips signaled a conclusion to the observation.

"Who said this was for one person?"

"Eh?" she stammered, reflexively.

He sighed and began laying out the bag's contents for the register. "Is it not custom to show gratitude by offering a home cooked meal?" When she opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off swiftly, his words directed more toward the cashier than Sakura. "I thought that only rude, unsympathetic women ignore such customs. Right?"

Sakura was still startled by the ease with which Li threw around his grins. He reserved himself only to frowns and scowls of scorn and derision when around her; around everyone else, he was all smiles and rows of white teeth. He affected proper formalities, stopped referring to her in his ubiquitous 'you,' and almost came across as charming. Almost. Sakura wasn't fooled, even if the cashier was. The older woman faltered and wilted about, barely coherent enough to manage providing the final tally for Sakura's proffered bank card.

Once outside on the sidewalk, Li refused to give up his hold on her shopping bag, and reluctantly, she fell into step beside him. Unlike in the market, her normal stride kept even with his long legs. Eying him from her left, she decided that their unplanned outing and this supposed meal she was blackmailed into providing him was more than enough common ground to project a bit more familiarity.

"What is Li-san's theme today?" she asked, a little amused. His get-up resembled that of a dutiful part-timer who spends his evenings leaving forum messages. His shirt was un-tucked in the back, his right shoe was scuffed despite the polish, a tuft of hair stubbornly refused gravity behind his left ear- even his tie was sitting crookedly. She expanded when he didn't answer. "Monday Li-san was the wealthy second son; Tuesday, Li-san was the struggling grad student with broken shoelaces; Wednesday, Li-san was a young professor in the classics department; and today, Li-san looks like a cram student still working three part time jobs while balancing an internet girlfriend."

Her green eyes were settled on the patch of sidewalk that continued to pan forward with each of her steps; she missed his expression entirely except for the occasional flash of peripheral imprints that displayed his stiff jaw and pressed lips. But she turned entirely, devoting her full attention, when a previously unheard sound erupted from her left. She looked back to where Li stood, half hunched over, the shopping bag resting on the ground. His hands were clutched to his stomach and his face was hidden by the shadow of his hair and sleeve. The sound escaped in muffled patches from his chest where his mouth was pressed.

Concerned, Sakura knelt by his side, her hand raised hesitantly to push away his hair. "Li-san, are you okay? What's wrong? Is there a pain?"

He straightened then, and Sakura teetered backwards on her heels, nearly falling at the abruptness. His expression threw her into a shocked silence. It was a different smile from that flirtatious one in the market or the polite one he had shared during the goukon; just like when he had spoken at the temple, his cheeks thickened and his lips relaxed. The smile pulled back lines and a hidden dimple in his cheek, all of which drew immediate attention to the energy that warmed his eyes. That sound she hadn't recognized- that sound he had tried to muffle. It was the sound of his laughter.

Sakura realized, with no small amount of internal confusion, that she very much liked that sound. She liked the sound of Li Syaoran's laugh.

"Oi, Kinomoto Sakura, you really are a dummy." He inhaled deeply, the mirth still enriching his normally flat inflection. "Cram student with an internet girlfriend? Wealthy second son? You have a most strange mind to think up such things."

Still crouched near the ground, she looked at him, her mouth slightly parted and green eyes wide. Her brain found the functionality to adroitly respond. "Then those clothes, they were not disguises?"

"No, they were not disguises," he parroted, his mouth still twisted in a half smile. He knelt down beside her, ignoring the fact that between the two of them, the sidewalk had just gained a large traffic obstruction. "It's called dressing for the occasion."

She lost her earlier capacity for speech. His face was the closest it had been in daylight. Their nighttime struggle- something that felt so very distant crouching there on that sidewalk- had provided little opportunity for close observation. He was still smiling, that one dimple indenting his cheek impishly. She could imagine him so easily as a child then, a perchance surly boy who could be startled into cuteness on occasion.

The smile's transformation ended with the loss of those upward curves, but the rigidity did not return immediately. His eyes remained brightened, yet that energy seemed to soften into something more fragile. She felt the unexpected weight of his hand land on the top of her head, his palm warm beneath her hair. Blinking, her lips opened, her thoughts voicing themselves irreverently. "Li-san should smile more."

His hand moved, falling and slipping from the crown of her head to the base of her neck. Unbidden, her breath hitched and again, her mouth opened. "Li-san, why are you he-"

A flash of light reflected from the lenses on a pair of spectacles, interrupting her words. She squinted against the glare and then shot up to her full height, pushing aside Li's hand and nearly knocking over the shopping bag. She recognized that pair of glasses; she recognized that face! The figure's back disappeared behind a crowd of pedestrians and then surged back into sight. Yes, it was- it was definitely him!

She sprinted forward, crossed the fifteen meters in a handful of seconds, and gripped the figure's sleeveless arm recklessly. If it was the wrong person- but it wasn't! There was no way. The man turned around, startled by the contact, and then, as one, their mouths parted into wide smiles. Li arrived by her side a half second later, but by then, Sakura had all but forgotten about him.

This was- and so that meant. . .she threw herself into the man's arms fully and hugged him tightly. Li's voice was lost behind her cry.

"Hey, Kinomoto, what are you-"

"Oh Yukito- you're here, you're back!"

The bespectacled man's face softened with fondness. "I missed you, too, Sakura-chan."

A new impediment to the sidewalk's traffic unfolded as people curved around the embraced pair- such a shocking thing to see in such a public place- and then attempted to avoid the darkened visage of a third person, a scowling young man whose fist gripped a held shopping back so tightly that his knuckles shone white in the rapidly descending twilight.

**Three End**

**TSU RAI KU**

_**. . .it's the unknown that ends up terrifying. . .**_

_A/N:__ Just a few explanations regarding historical references and food items. To clarify, Shinto developed in Japan long before Buddhism arrived. The Buddhist teachings first arrived in Japan in the sixth century, and it had a huge influence on the organization of Shinto, which is very much animist in origin. Buddhism introduced the formalization of places of worship, and so it was during the Nara period that one saw actual Shinto temples being built, again, modeled after their younger Buddhist brother. The Heian period occurred after the Nara period and was characterized by the strong cultural influences of mainland China._

_As for food items, pickled vegetables are a huge part of the average Japanese traditional meal. It is very typical to have six or seven different pickled dishes with rice and dried fish for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Daikon are pickled radishes, normally sliced very thin, and usually eaten with a dipping sauce of some sort. I am not a fan of pickled things, however, I love daikon, and when I taught in Japan two years ago, I had the opportunity to actually sample some of Kintame's pickled specialties, and I have to say, I was not at all displeased. Almost turned me into a fan._

_Just another slight cultural note: while Japanese society, especially among the younger generation, has 'loosened' up some of its views on public displays of affection, it is still not the norm to see two people embracing in the street. It would, indeed, be rather shocking. Especially in such a public avenue as a sidewalk. I remember when I was there, I had a friend from Italy visit me who is actually second generation Japanese. When he went to greet me as is the tradition in Italy, with a kiss on each cheek, there were sounds of gasps and disapproving muttering all around us. Just a note._

_Thanks again for your patience, and you can look forward to the next chapter within the next week._


	5. Four

_A/N: As always, a huge thanks for the continued support. You guys are the best._

_Disclaimer: CLAMP owns all. Not me._

**TSU RAI KU**

_**. . .and yet, the terror reminds you you're alive. . .**_

_by: carpetfibers_

**FOUR**

**HER PATIENCE WAS **rapidly running dry, and with it, her appetite. As overjoyed as Sakura was to see Yukito after nearly six months, there was something even more pressing that his arrival promised an answer to. She was prevented from this inquiry however, due to the presence of a third, increasingly surly, person in her flat. For whatever reason, Li had wormed his way into her home with more of his boyfriend nonsense.

_"A key? Li-san has a key to Sakura-chan's apartment?"_ Yukito had asked, and Sakura, too surprised by the appearance of a heretofore unknown of key, had given way to Li answering that particular question.

_"Sakura likes the idea of having her boyfriend pop in whenever."_ His smile came across slightly more forced than before, but Yukito returned that reply with ease and politeness.

"Sakura-chan has always liked surprises, ever since she was a very little girl." This was a truth that she'd rather not share with Li; who knew how he might manipulate that to his means?

But now, the conversation's polite turns had lost their steam. There were only so many comments to make on the mild winter and the particular flavor of the dried fish before the elephant in the room had to be addressed. Her green eyes shot to Li's expressionless face for the second time, her lips pursed with impatience. If only that man hadn't barged his way in, she might be able to ask! And then, for the first time in six months, she might be able to sleep without having that particular worry niggling in the back of her mind.

"Sakura-chan looks well," Yukito remarked when she traded their dinner plates for a tray of freshly strained tea. "To-ya will be happy to hear this."

Her hold on the tea tray wobbled, and Li's hand shot out with expert strength and caught it before it fell. "Oniisan?" The word fell from her lips for the first time in nearly six months. Not since that night when he left her without any explanation beyond two lines scratched on a note.

Yukito smiled and sipped from his tea. "Ah. . .only Sakura-chan makes the leaves taste like this. I have missed this."

A wave of panic flowed over her. The way Yukito spoke made her frightened. "Where is Oniisan? Is he okay? Is he healthy? When is he coming back? Why hasn't he written or called-"

"Sakura-chan is better off not knowing these answers."

The panic evolved into something stronger, something crisper. Why did people so easily assume she would sit passively to the side and just wait? Why couldn't her brother depend on her, trust her enough to at least spare her a bit of information? "Yukito-san, where is Touya?"

Yukito's handsome face, delicately angled in its paleness, winced in pain. She ignored the flicker of recrimination that fingered her stomach at his expression. "Sakura-chan, please, don't ask me. I can't tell you."

"What do you mean you can't tell me? Of course you can! Touya is my brother, and Oniisan has been gone so long without any word. Yukito-san and Oniisan leave me in the middle of the night, leave me with a stupid note about solving a mystery, and then nothing! For six months now, I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night not knowing where Touya is, not knowing if. . .if-"

Her voice broke, and tears quickly welled in her eyes. Furiously, she blinked back the dampness. "Please, just let me know where his is."

The pained tightness in Yukito's features swelled beneath her gaze. She saw the conflict in his light eyes, eyes that she had known since she was ten years old. Yukito was her second brother, a remnant of the few pieces of family she had left. She had fought against the despair and loss that had struck her that late summer night when she woke, without any due cause, to find her childhood house emptied but for herself, her brother's violin, and a note that instructed her to care for it.

Yukito stood, and Sakura reared up just as quickly, trailing at his back, still unable to quash the desperate hope that clung to her chest. Surely, Yukito wouldn't just leave again, leave her with nothing, no news, no reassurances. But there he was, slipping into his shoes and donning his coat. He paused in the hallway, looking back into her warmly lit apartment, his eyes still troubled.

"Sakura-chan, I-" He shook his head and smiled. She felt her heart breaking; he was going to leave. "I'm sorry. Please stay well; stay happy."

"Yukito. . ." She slid to the floor, her words landing on a closed door. "No, you can't just. . .it's not fair."

Her vision grew clouded and her cheeks suddenly chilled under a thick damp. The hitching in her ears was her own breathing, her own quiet sobs. "It's not fair; not fair!" Her face fell into her hands, her cool palms quickly wet with the moisture from her cheeks. It was that night all over again, when she had tiptoed down the stairs, wearing a pajama last worn in high school, and found a lamp on in the kitchen. The counter had been wiped clean, and in its center laid the violin, and beneath it a note. Two short lines, which she had read over and over until at last it had sunk in.

She had been left, deserted- discarded. And now, it was happening again.

She inhaled sharply, the sob catching in her throat and staggering her breaths. She hated this wretched feeling, hated this loneliness, because when she was honest with herself, when she was brutally and viciously honest, Sakura knew the real reason for wanting her brother home. Before his safety, before his happiness- she just wanted to know that she was not alone. She wanted-

"Kinomoto."

The shock of Li's continued presence was enough to halt her tears. She reared back, toppling over her legs, and landing in a graceless sprawl. Blinking furiously, she wiped at her cheeks. A flush replaced the moisture; she was embarrassed. "You- you're still here?"

He frowned, the expression familiar to her by now; somehow, this time, she didn't feel any anger or impatience. He crouched beside her, silent. Still blinking, she averted her gaze, as if by doing so he would somehow overlook her earlier tears. She felt a weight land on her hair; her eyes met his. With a slight pat, he stood up. "Your convenience store has ice cream bars, right?"

"Eh?"

"Come on. Your treat."

"Eh?" Confused, she still scrambled up after him as he left the apartment and skirted down the hallway.

Eighteen minutes later, and they both sat on the outside staircase to her complex, his perch a few steps above hers. Sakura nibbled on the edges of her deluxe strawberry bar, coated in a layer of crushed rice wafers. Li, true to his word, had made her pay for his chocolate cone. She did so without protest, a silent token of her gratitude for having provided her a distraction from earlier emotions.

Her green eyes stared into the distance, watching the early nighttime traffic filter through the cramped street. The sidewalks overflowed with pedestrians, spilling out into the street to war with the cars, buses, and mopeds that wrangled through. She tried to remember why she wanted to come to Tokyo in the first place. After finishing vocational school, she had dreams of being a beloved editor, someone who talented writers begged to have help them in their journeys to success. Somehow, that intention had evolved into her present. Instead of writers, she worked with building. Instead of encouraging the talent of individuals, she encouraged the dreams of shop owners. It wasn't a bad trade, and she was good at her job. That bakery from last month, the owner had been so thankful for her advice and suggestions that he sent her a fresh cake every week in gratitude. She used to enjoy those details, those little silver linings to a fairly humdrum career.

Until- until a year ago. When Sakura received the phone call from her brother and learned that their father had died.

"My brother left six months ago," she began without preamble, her eyes still on the street. "We have a house in Tomoeda; my brother was living there with Yukito. I came down to spend a long weekend there, and on my last night, he left, without any explanation- without saying good-bye. He left his violin- that violin your employer or whoever it is wants- in the kitchen and a note that asked me to take care of it."

She sighed and licked at her ice cream bar; it was melting in the balmy night air, dribbling down past the stick and onto her finger. She craned her neck, her tongue darting out to catch the pink rivulet. From behind her, she heard Li speak, his voice signifying his closeness. "A man only leaves his family behind when he thinks he's doing what's best."

"What's best? I wonder. . ." she questioned aloud, her tone wistful. "I think it's selfish, to decide all of that on your own."

A moment's pause, another few seconds to lick at her ice cream, and then he spoke again. "Do you know why he left?"

"I can guess." She sighed and leaned back, stretching over the stairs, relishing the angles as they dug into her back. Li looked down at her from his seat two stairs up. She pointed to her heart. "A child who loses a beloved parent wants to know why, wants to understand how, and my brother- he could never accept an accident as an accident. He left me to go chase after a nonexistent white bird."

"Kinomoto."

"Li-san's made me make him dinner and buy him ice cream. You can be more familiar, you know," she said, angling her neck to better see his face. He scowled at her, and she smiled purposely.

"Kinomo-"

"It's _Sa-ku-ra_. You say it all the time when you lie to my friends and claim to be my boyfriend."

He ignored her doggedly. "Kinomoto."

She started to turn, to better emphasize her pronunciation, when a small box landed in her lap. "Eye drops? Eh?"

Li looked away. "You use them for your eyes."

"Ah." And she did understand. For whatever reason, Li had tried to cheer her up. Maybe, just maybe, she realized, he might be human after all and not just a weirdo stalker. "Thank you then."

Maybe.

**II**

**IT OCCURRED TO **Sakura that her choice in clothing that morning had been ill advised. The weather most certainly did not reflect partly cloudy with a chance of evening showers. The sky was conducting its own apocalypse over the horizon, and the rain fell in angled sheets, thick enough to disguise the few brave souls who dared scurry under it. She peered beyond the glass doors that exited her company building, looking for some sign that the onslaught might let up.

"No umbrella?"

She turned to her right and smiled crookedly. "The morning report promised sunny skies and a little cloud cover. So, no umbrella."

Her bespectacled manager reached into his briefcase and withdrew a slender cylinder. Two clicks on its base, and the cylinder became an umbrella large enough for two. He motioned with his wrist. "I can't walk Sakura-san home, but can I convince her to have a drink with me?"

Sakura nodded in assent, and stepped out and into the barrage, her small hand clutched to the umbrella's base. She heard her partner chuckle, and her eyes widened as he put his own palm over hers, and guided them toward a shimmering building two blocks down. Despite the umbrella's best intentions, she arrived at the ground floor lobby with her panty hose soaked and the hem of her skirt sticking to her knees. Her shoes, dependable flats, had darkened to a new shade of red. The only part of her still fully dry was her face and hair. Which didn't last long.

Three shakes of the closed umbrella managed to saturate her neatly pinned up-do, and with a muted sigh of defeat, she reach behind her neck to unpin her normally demure bun. Three layers of damp light brown hair fell over her shoulders, and when she glanced over from her coiffing, she found Eriol watching her, a small smile on his lips.

"Sakura-san looks younger."

Unbidden, she felt herself blush. "Which is why I don't wear my hair down. I have a baby face."

He held out a chair for her, which she took, her skin still flushed. She couldn't help liking her new manager; he was polite and friendly, plainly intelligent, and. . . he was interesting. He seemed to really listen she answered his questions, which felt like such a change from the many people who merely asked those kinds of questions become politeness required it. And there was also _that_. That feeling of connection she had from him since the moment they were first really introduced name to name. She didn't understand why, but she trusted that feeling.

Even if Eriol Hiiragizawa fell under the description of a strange man according to some; well, really only according to one person. But this wasn't the time to be thinking about _him_.

He ordered for her, something fruity and sweet tasting. His drink lacked color or fragrance, but it became apparent after three of them, that they were potent. By the time their fourth round of drinks arrived, Sakura knew her flushed cheeks were no longer from undue attention. Eriol's condition had devolved into an inelegant sprawl, that left him draped against the back of his chair, his bottom lip clearly protruding in a telltale gesture of brooding. Their conversation had been reigned into topics surrounding apartment hunting, the caffeine addictions of models, and work concerns.

He ended that rally with a sluggish gulp from his glass. "Has Sakura-san ever been in love?"

It said something of the level of her inebriation that the question posed no amount of embarrassment for her, just a paused consideration. "Once. . . maybe."

Her normally adroit manager sagged toward the table, his chin coming to rest over his folded hands. "Maa. . .it's no good, Sakura-san. Good things should be simple, yes? But this. . that was all complication and misunderstandings."

Her lips pursed in concentration. "Then Eriol-san has been in love before?"

"Yes," he admitted, his tone all misery. "She was my tutor in school, older and painfully beautiful. She is why I came to Japan."

"Eh? Then Eriol-san didn't come to Japan for work?" She leaned forward, nearly knocking over her glass in the process. She saved the beverage and sipped slowly from the straw, much of its icy mixture having melted.

He sighed. "But she had already married; she married a teacher from Hokkaido, whose Japanese is barely tolerable." He frowned at his glass. "She will become bloated and fat and probably have eleven children."

Sakura was unable to decide whether the latter comments deserved a scolding or a giggle. She opted instead for another refill for her drink. The storm outside pounded away, still in the midst of its evening tempter tantrum. Eriol's confession was enough to urge her own more immediate worries to voice themselves. "Yuu and I dated for a little over two years. We spent two years meeting for dinner or drinks or in the park. We went on trips to the ocean, to the mountains, to ski. Once, we went to Korea on a boat ride, and he was so sick he couldn't leave the cabin." She paused, remembering the feel of the sea air on her skin and the taste of salt in her mouth. "I loved it though."

"And Yuu-san, what happened?"

She lifted her gaze across the table. Eriol was watching, clearly interested in the story. She shrugged. "He found a girl who wasn't me and he's marrying her next month. So now," and now it was her turn to be maudlin, "Sakura-chan is alone."

"Maa. . .I didn't think Sakura-san was a liar."

She straightened in her chair, slipping slightly as the quickness of the motion proved too much for her current levels. Four glasses of fruity sweetness had done their damage. Affronted, she demanded an explanation. "How? Why?"

Eriol pulled himself up enough to switch his chin to the crook of his angled arm. With his other arm, he punctuated the air. "Sakura-san has family here. Sakura-san has her brother and her father-"

"Otousan died a year ago, and I don't know where my brother is." Her words necessitated another refill, which the waitress readily fulfilled. She drained half the glass in a quick swallow, and instantly, her vision began to grow fuzzy, her head feeling as if under water. From beyond the building, thunder reverberated, drowning all sound for a brief two seconds. "I don't know where he is or when he's coming back, but he went away because he's stubborn and thinks Otousan didn't die by accident, but-"

"Oi, what did I tell you about strange men?"

Blearily, Sakura lifted her cheek from the table. A face swam into view: disgruntled expression, unkempt brown hair, guarded eyes. . .it was Li, and he was scowling. "Eh? Li-san comes here, too? Coincidence or fate, what does Eriol-san think?"

But Eriol's sloppy demeanor seemed to have been burnt away. He sat properly in his chair, his glasses no longer crookedly framing his eyes, and his expression was plainly one of displeasure. "Sakura-san's friend has terrible timing."

"Li-san is not my friend," she immediately protested, her words slurred. "He is-"

A hand clamped over her mouth. "I'm her neighbor, and I'm taking her home."

Eriol's head inclined a brief two degrees in assent. "You should do whatever you feel you must. Just be gentle with her. Sakura-san's-"

Sakura watched, confused, as Li's expression tightened in anger. "I don't need lecturing from you!" He grabbed her wrist roughly. "Come on."

Clumsily, she stumbled after him, losing a shoe in the process. He heard none of her protests, however, and ignored her efforts to free herself, the shocked expressions from the bar's other patrons, and only stopped once they had arrived on the sidewalk, the downpour still in full thrall. Sakura was drenched in seconds. Li stood to her side, his hold unbreakable, and his expression seething.

"What did I tell you about strange men? Didn't I say to avoid them?" He snarled at her.

"Lemme go," she cried, still struggling.

"Can't you tell the difference between normal and strange? Don't talk to that man anymore," he ordered.

She quit fighting and sagged, the alcohol stole away her energy but it buffered her anger. "Eriol-san is my boss, and he's only ever been nice and polite with me, which is more than what I can say for you!"

"Then quit your job."

"Quit my job? Are you-" But she broke off, since that very thought had been on her mind for the past several weeks. "I'm not quitting my job and I'm not going to avoid Eriol-san. Li-san has bullied and insulted me, and never explains anything. Why should I trust you? Why?"

She blinked against the rain and ignored the fact that the moisture that fell down her cheeks had grown salty with her tears. She stood, sodden and exhausted, on the sidewalk, her wrist trapped in his hand, the only part of her body current warmed. He seemed unmoved by her words, and she realized that she was tired of it. Tired of dealing with his existence in her life as something normal, tired of being the passive bystander. Her brother, Yukito, and Li- they all just assumed she would take it and never rebel, never get tired, never refuse and fight back.

"Do you want to know about that violin? It belonged to my mother's father, who left it to her in his will after disowning her. My brother played it when we were younger, with my mother who would play the piano. But then Okaasan died, and the piano became mine. We played together, and my father would watch and listen. It stayed that way, until my father died. That's all! The only time that violin's been away from my brother was that awful night Otousan died-"

"How did he die? How did your father die?" Li's voice cut through the pounding rain, urgent.

"It was an accident!" she cried. "A terrible accident- a fire. That's all. Touya forgot his wallet at work and Otousan went to get it for him, but there was a problem with the wiring, a fire started, and he died. That's all. He died, and that was all. Nothing sinister or mysterious or worthy of leaving the country to chase after nonexistent enemies. And now I'm. . . I'm-"

Li stared at her, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, forcing a veil of youth to his features that she quailed against. She deserved to feel angry, to be upset. Everyone just assumed- they all just thought for themselves and decided for themselves what she should do, what she should feel. And now she. . .she-

"You're what?"

His voice stabbed through the rain, and her lips trembled in the chilled air. "I'm tired of people deciding for me. I want to know the real reason you're here. I want the truth, and then I'll decide whether you can stay or not."

He stayed silent, and her trembling spread past her jaw and into her shoulders. She flinched as the sky sparked brightly, a burst of lightening crackling overhead and then the boom of its thunder behind it. When she opened her eyes, he had moved closer, his hand still warm and tight on her wrist. She felt it clench and then loosen; his neck inclined, and in his gaze she saw the uncertainty, the questioning.

"My mother died, and her death was no accident. I'm here because I want to find the person who killed her; I'm here because this person is here, in Japan, looking for a violin."

"A violin?" she echoed, but Sakura knew already which violin he meant.

He nodded, and a rivulet of water fell from his forehead and trailed down his cheek to his neck. She watched as it spread further, widening as it gained strength from the still falling rain, and she watched, her eyes fixed, as it found rest at her wrist, in his hand. His hold tightened, and she didn't fight it. His hand was warm; he was warm.

"My brother's violin. . .then why didn't you just take it?"

"I changed my mind."

"Why though?"

When he answered, he hid his eyes, and she was left with only words. "Because you asked me to."

A warmth spread through her, beginning at the base of her spine and stretching upward and out, through to her toes and into her arms, until the heat at her wrist was matched throughout. The chill of the storm was forgotten, and unconsciously, she began to smile. "Li?"

He kept his jaw turned, his expression hidden. She tugged his hand with her wrist. "What?"

"I lost my shoe."

He looked at her then, his lips twitching, and she recognized the movement as that of laughter suppressed. "Well, I did," she repeated. "You yanked me out of there so fast that I didn't have a chance to say anything."

"Dummy." He said the word, but she only heard the fondness in his tone. He knelt down, his clothes soaked through and his hair dripping, and motioned to his back. "Get on then."

"Eh?'

He sighed. "Sakura. Get on."

When she finally obeyed, her hands gingerly closing over his shoulders and her chest absorbing the heat of his back, she was unable to tell whether it was the sudden stop in the rain or the face he spoke her name that forced the blood to her cheeks.

**Four End**

**TSU RAI KU**

_**. . .and yet, the terror reminds you you're alive. . .**_


	6. Five

__

A/N: I want to thank all my readers and reviewers for their patience on this chapter's release. If it's of any worth, this chapter was written at least six times in the past few weeks; I am finally satisfied with it. Next chapter should be far timelier in its release. Further notes are included at the end of the story.

A special thanks goes to Sakura Jade for her patience and beta-work. Earlier chapters are going through their processing with her, and their improvement is owed to her time and interest. This chapter now officially beta-ed. A second thanks to Sakura Jade

Disclaimer: All character ownership belongs to the talented women at CLAMP.

**TSU RAI KU**

**_. . .and the relief, at the end, is like an early spring. . ._**

_by: carpetfibers_

**FIVE**

**HOME SMELLED LIKE **a pregnant spring, heavy with the promise of full blossoms and an early ripening. The trees hung low, their branches heavy with bursting buds, and every flat surface gained a top layer of fine silt. The silken dust slipped in from sealed windows, crept under doorways, and for six months out of the year, mornings began with a rousing sneeze. But that was her childhood, her father, her home- her life's memories carried the perfume of damp earth and pungent petals. She only ever realized she missed it when she came home.

Tokyo was a city whose trees were planted to hide above ground electrical lines. Tomoeda was a town whose trees happened to be there first.

She knew the train was nearing her destination long before her eyes stretched to regard the view from beyond the window. Those scents tickled and tantalized, and she was brought back to a time five years before, when she left her home and family to begin her life. Tomoyo had already made that step a year earlier, as had Rika and Naoko. Takashi had joined her that early dawn morning, his nose sniffling from alleged allergies, and they both waved farewells to their gathered families. Takashi had a promising internship for a magazine, and she left to begin an exciting career as a beloved editor, or so her mind had narrated it.

Her first year away from home, she returned nearly every other weekend, filled with stories about work and her new life. Her second year away from home, the visits lessened to once every two months. Her stories lost some of their enthusiasm and focused more on her friends and their achievements. Her third year consisted of three trips home, one for her brother's birthday, one for her father's birthday, and one for the anniversary of her mother's death. She went home only twice during her fourth year　away. The first trip was a short two day weekend for Christmas, and the other was　the night her brother called her and told her of the accident. She had been home only once since then, and that was another night spent mourning.

This would be her first time returning to an empty home, and as much as her heart swelled to breath in the scents so dear to her, it also ached. That spring day when her father died had smelled much like this one. The trees, swollen with their rebirth, had clung to the air that day, and she needed only to close her eyes to see it as it must have been that day- that night a year earlier.

The train stopped, and, once again, Sakura Kinomoto was home.

The distance from the train station to her home was not far, and so with one hand gripping the violin case, she began the walk, remembering. "I used to roller blade on this sidewalk," she told her companion, her smile as small and nervous as her grip. "I was always running and hurrying, no matter whether it was to school or home or a store."

She pointed to a brick pastry shop whose windows were filled with cakes and cleverly designed sweets. "My brother's first job was there; he was dressed in a bear costume and handed out samples for the store's grand opening."

The sidewalk rounded a corner and landed　at a large sprawling patchwork of more brick buildings. A silver plaque announced the building's name, and her lips parted into that same tight expression that had plagued her since she first woke that morning. "My elementary school," she explained. Her fingers touched the sky, brushing another flock of buildings kiddy-corner to the north. "My high school."

Her steps slowed as she passed a park, decorated in an animal theme. A slide, designed as a penguin, that had once seemed so tall, now only reached as high as her gaze. "I used to come here, after school, and play." She stayed silent about the aging camellia tree next to the park, about how it had been the meeting place between her parents, when her mother was a high school student and her father a young teacher. She made no mention of the barely blooming pink flowers littered beneath the tree, and her steps grew slower still.

Her eyes found the gate first and then the doorway that loomed beyond it. The windows had been opened, to air out the staleness, and faintly, she smelled the chalky scent of cooking. She took the few steps between the gate and her door, her heart racing- it couldn't be. Not after the way Yukito had left- there was no way. But still, she hoped, and forgetting her companion, she threw open the front door to her home and called:

"I'm home!"

"Welcome back, Sakura-chan!"

The anticipated response came, in a familiar voice, but not the desired one. Sakura struggled to hide her disappointment as she pulled off her shoes and tripped into a pair of slippers. "Tomoyo-chan?"

Her friend stuck out her head from the kitchen, a slip of apron showing as well. "Okaasan gave me the key. Rika-chan and Takashi should be here in a little bit- they went to visit Chiharu-chan's mother in the hospital- oh." Tomoyo's eyes widened at the sight of Sakura's tag-along. "Li-san came, too?"

Sakura avoided her friend's gaze, knowing that her abilities at subterfuge were nil. "I invited him."

"Hmm. . ." Tomoyo cocked her head, her delicate features stitched in consideration. "I thought Sakura-chan said Li-san was just a neighbor."

Sakura cringed, Li remained impassively unhelpful. "Tomoyo, I-" But her words were interrupted by a buzzing sound and a sudden acrid scent to the air.

Tomoyo twisted around, her concerns refocused on the pan sizzling on the stove-top. "It's burned," she stated, her tone defeated.

"Excuse me."

Tomoyo stepped aside as Li took her place, his hands already at work moving the pan to a different burner and adding a second batch of vegetables to the fryer. The brunette shot her friend a look that plainly said she was impressed. Sakura circled around to the other side of the kitchen, climbing onto one of the stools that accompanied the counter top. Tomoyo slid into the one next to her, having gladly surrendered her cooking detail to someone plainly better suited. Sakura watched as Li seamlessly moved from the stove-top duties to rolling the half prepared rice wraps.

In a low tone, she tried to explain his presence. "He sort of invited himself along."

"I think Sakura-chan has been keeping secrets," Tomoyo whispered from behind her pleasant smile. "I knew your explanation was too impossible."

Tomoyo was referring to, of course, Li's crashing of their goukon and subsequent claim of being her boyfriend. Sakura had excused the entire episode as a drawn-out joke, that Li happened to have taken too far. She had followed up that excuse with adamant denials of holding any sort of regard. "Tomoyo-chan. . ."

But already Tomoyo's attention had moved on, her curious eyes having caught sight of the case resting near Sakura's ankle. "Violin? Is that Touya-san's. . ."

She bit her lip, her teeth bruising the tender flesh harshly. A hundred and one reasons to not have brought it, and only one good reason to have. She had no reason to believe so, or think so; the instrument was no pied piper. Its presence would not charm the missing persons of the Kinomoto family into returning. Whatever duet played that night would be missing its second half, and she knew, without honestly knowing, that she would sit at her childhood keyboard and stare at keys worn yellow with age and smudged by years of careless fingers stabbing at its surface, and still hope that regardless, something of magic might happen.

Tomoyo's eyes warmed with understanding. "Okay then." And then, as was her way, she quickly rebounded. "Sakura-chan needs to see what Okaasan did to her bedroom." At Li's disgruntled expression, she turned on the Daidouji charm. "Li-san is so generous, volunteering to finish the cooking. Sakura-chan is lucky indeed to have such a neighbor."

No one missed the playful edge her voice gave to the last word. Li, another victim on the long road of passively conquered foes, frowned, but nodded. Tomoyo grabbed Sakura's fingers, and in pattern used time and time again during their childhood, led the way up to the second floor. The barest of pauses crossed their steps as they passed the first closed door, but then it was to the last door in the hallway, the one with the pink heart stitched with crooked characters adorning it. Tomoyo stepped back to allow the room's owner to pass, and with a hesitant hand, Sakura pushed it open.

Her room was like something out of a childhood picture. Fresh sheets coated the bed, and a new comforter was folded at its end, but the rest had been preserved in perfection. When she had last left the house, her room had been made up of her bed and several packed boxes. "Okaasan's been working on it for several weeks now. Whenever she comes back from a business trip, she stops by and unpacks another box, cleans another window."

Sakura bent to pick up a plushly stuffed animal, its face scrunched in a curly-queue smile. "Even Kero-chan. . .Sonomi-san did all this?"　Hesitantly, she dropped down onto her bed, hugging the animal to her chest. Tomoyo sat down beside her, her smile lovely in its caring.

"All this. Touya-san might not be here," she said gently, "but Sakura-chan is not without family. She still has a home."

Her eyes blinked rapidly, her earlier resolve to not cry on this day, failing under the wake of such love. "You're right."

"Eh? Sakura-chan ever doubted? Honestly." Tomoyo flashed a grin reminiscent of nine year old girlish escapades concocted during weekend long sleep overs, beneath the cover of sheet made tents and dimly lit flashlights. Sakura's lips fell in similar accordance.

_"I'm coming in. . ."_

And:

_"Sakurin! I brought Kinomoto-sensei's favorite wine!"_

Tomoyo tugged on her hand gently. "Sakura-chan should be smiling today. Today is the day we celebrate Fujitaka-sensei's life."

She nodded slowly, knowing the truth in her friend's words, knowing that her father, had he still been alive, would want her smile in his home.

"Okay."

**II **

**THE HOUSE SLEPT**, but she could not. She crept down the stairs, leaving Tomoyo deeply asleep on the bed, and pushed open the sliding glass doors that led into the back patio. Her bare feet felt warm against the chilled rows of wooden planks that made a small landing. Slowly, her body slipped ground-wards, until her chin came to rest on her knees and her arms wrapped around her legs. The day had not been as terrible as she had thought it would be. . .

Tomoyo had kept things purposely busy. The visit to the nameplates, the burning of incense and the lunch offering; her friends had shared highlights from their daily lives to her parents' spirits and Sakura managed a few sentences of her own. Li, predictably, stayed silent and distanced. Afterwards, they prayed at the temple, and then it was back home for a makeshift dinner and a few rounds of a Korean card game Takashi had learned from an exchange student. Takashi returned to the hospital to stay with Chiharu's mother, and Rika caught a train back into Tokyo; Terada-sensei was due back the next morning. The day had slipped away from her, leaving her no time to remember or think about what the day signified.

About how, just a year before, her father had been alive and breathing, waking each morning to teach at his beloved university, and coming home each night to share a dinner with his son.

And now, one had gone away to stay and another was just gone.

She sighed, her breath a brief sputter of toneless sound in the air. She congratulated herself, two seconds later, when she managed not to react to Li　landing　heavily　on the ground next to her.　His long legs sprawled out, his bare　feet edging at the grass. Aside from a few sentences in the kitchen and on the train, he had been a quiet observer on her father's death day anniversary. The air was interrupted by a second sigh as he leaned back, his shoulders hunched and his fingers splayed for balance. His eyes drifted toward hers, and she wondered at the painfully wistful expression that filled them.

After a moment, he spoke. "You have good friends."

She nodded into her knees, her loosened hair cloaking her cheeks. "The best. The very, absolute best." She inclined her head toward him. "Did you have many friends growing up?"

"No. Just one, a cousin."

"Hmm. . ." Her eyes considered the cloud-filled sky, the stars hidden behind the hazy gauze of gray and street lights. She could not remember a time in her life where there were not also friends, some dearer than others, but always that company and companionship. There had never been a time when she had truly been alone. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I'm an only child." His voice betrayed him, and Sakura instantly regretted her questions.

"Ah. . .I'm sorry. These are things you'd rather not talk about. Then-"

"How did your mother die?"

The pain was an old pain, a hurt that existed as little more than a child's hopeful dream having never come to fruition. She had pictures of her mother that had long ago replaced whatever real memories she had from infancy. She had second hand stories from her father and brother, from Sonomi-san, and from her maternal grandfather. She had newspaper clippings and saved diaries, and when she had turned sixteen, there was a letter as well, written before her mother's hand grew too weak to write. Sakura had been three years old when her mother died. Twenty-two years later, the pang still stung.

"Okaasan had a weak heart. She was never supposed to live long enough to marry or have children." She watched him from beneath her lashes, wondering at his curiosity. "It's why they married while she was still in high school. It was a huge scandal at the time- Otousan was an assistant teacher then, and people simply assumed the worst."

People did quite a bit more than make unfounded assumptions though. Nadeshiko Kinomoto was expelled from school, her parents forbade her from returning home, and for a long set of weeks, everyone in Tomoeda who knew her shunned her. Sakura's parents married almost immediately, and it took the slow passing of time and observation before people realized how very much in love the two were with each other. Slowly, by the time she was pregnant with Touya, Nadeshiko was welcomed back by the community. A handful of years later, when she died, a garden was set up in her memory, planted with the flowers she was named after.

"May I ask how Li-san's mother died?" She　spoke to the ground, her eyes carefully trained　away from his face. Somehow, she didn't trust herself to　watch him when asking such a question.

"She drowned." She flinched at his tone;　he recited the words　without expression. He continued, only the barest of pauses giving the memory feeling. "The day　after her wedding, she and her new husband left on their boat. According to the authorities, there was an accident on board and a fire started. At some point, my mother fell into the water, her husband dove after her, and they both died."

A single word rang out to her from the recounting. "A fire. . ." Her eyes grew wide. "Then my father, that fire-"

"It wasn't an accident."

There was a pounding, an unbearable throbbing that resounded in her ears. Flashes of the day- this day and the one a year before- screamed past her eyes: her brother crying in the hospital corridor, the litter of pink blossoms scattered from her unwilling hands, the cascade of ashes drowned in an uncaring sleet. The flashing ambulance lights as she entered the familiar building; her father's university colleagues murmuring in dark tones. The accusative glances sent toward her brother after his outburst.

_It wasn't an accident._

"He's right then, he's been right all this time, and all those times I was angry with him- _oh god_, and how I treated Yukito-" Sakura broke off, finding her self suddenly standing in the middle of the small yard. Overhead, the clouds parted sparingly, a sliver of the moonlight breaking through. "It wasn't an accident," she repeated, her words hollow.

"Kinomoto-"

_It wasn't an accident. _Someone out there- some person-　had planned to set that fire. Someone out there- some person- hadn't cared who might get hurt, who might get injured. That person, that uncaring and calculating person had never paused to consider that someone might die- to consider that someone's father, someone who had only a father left to her, one parent left to call her own- that someone's father might die; this person never stopped to consider. _It wasn't an accident._

She was going to be sick.

"Kinomoto-"

Her chest was burning, churning tightly, and she couldn't help but wonder whether her father had felt much of the same. Did the smoke get to him first? Or was it the flame? Did he feel any pain, when the heat first found him, when the fire first found its newest piece of fuel? Was he aware of his end as it came at him? Did he know that he would never again see his children- that he would never come back from that moment? Did his lungs burn then as well, as hers did now?

She couldn't breath.

"Kinom-_Sakura_, you have to breath-" Her eyes flew into awareness with the flare of pain radiating from her jaw. Li was staring down at her, his expression contorted with something resembling worry. Her hand went to her cheek and at the contact, she winced. "It probably wasn't on purpose."

"My cheek?" The word sent a dull ache down through her face and into her shoulder.

"You were panicking," he explained, his voice uncommonly gentle. "Your father's death- I don't think it was intentional. No one was supposed to be in the store that night. Whoever set the fire hadn't counted on someone being inside the building."

She drew back, inexplicably angry. "Unintentional? Who cares about intentions- that doesn't change any-"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand!" His voice never rose in volume, but she heard the violence in the tones. Thunder and gale storms; she shivered in the night time air. "There is a huge difference between a planned and an unplanned murder. Intent always makes a difference. Your father was an overlooked by-product of a planned night of arson; my mother was a calculated execution. Her death was planned and practiced and imagined. _Intent _changes everything. Your father's death was a mistake; my mother's death was from a calculated hate."

Her earlier panic paled against the stark pain in his words. She had thought him to be emotionless, limited in his ability to display feelings unless it was to act or pretend. Hesitantly, she reached for one of his closed fists, her fingers grazing the taut skin delicately. "Li," she spoke gently, so as not to jar him too suddenly. "You're right, there is a difference. I'm sorry-"

"Stupid. Why are you apologizing?" He turned abruptly, and her hand was left dangling in the space between them. The angle of his shadow hid his gaze from her searching eyes. "How is it?"

"Eh?" Sakura stepped back at his equally as abrupt approach, her heel tripping against the edge of the patio planks. Li's hand caught her arm. His other hand reached towards her cheek, careful to not graze the tender skin.

"Your cheek. How is it?" he clarified.

Her head reeled; the way in which he jumped from emotion to emotion was exhausting. "It's fine, I suppose. . . But Li-"

"Leave it alone," he interrupted, nudging her back toward the sliding glass door. "You should go to sleep; you've had a long day."

"Yes, but Li-" She was silenced by another admonition, and reluctantly, she stepped through the doorway and into the house. She stared from the stairwell, watching as Li sank back to the ground, his head cradled between his hands. There was a nervous patter, a staccato rhythm to her heart beat, as she watched him, her feet unwilling to retreat. The clouds shifted from beyond the glass, slices of moon-glow easing through the gray giants. Another second, and she edged up the stairs, exhausted by the past hour's revelations and confused by the swell of disappointment resting beneath her breast.

Past the stairwell and through the glass doors, his back curved in supplication to the earth, Li Syaoran released the hold on his forehead and gazed down at the offending limb. His skin still burned from where it struck her, and unwillingly, he found himself re-living the brief contact. Coming with her, on this day, had been a miscalculation, a mistake. His short time around her had been a series of ever increasing stumbles and illogical decisions. That first night, when he first barged into her life, should have been the last. Instead, he had allowed a moment's weakness to carve out the past month's daily pattern. Following her to work, guarding her when she slept, trading sparse conversations on the few occasions that she noticed him, at what point had that changed? At what point had he changed?

At what point did he forget his purpose in coming to Japan? Was it when she fought against him? Was it when she- foolishly- kept her promise to not report him? Was it when she, with her diminutive fist, tried to force him into an explanation?

Or was it before all of that? Was it before she ever spoke to him- was it when he first caught sight of her crossing a crowded street, her head bowed and her eyes- unusual, striking eyes- clouded in unhappiness? Was it then that he first started changing, that he first started listening to something other than his mind?

His fingers trembled; it was too easy to remember the warmth of her skin, the scent that filled his nostrils whenever she was near- it was too easy to be distracted from his purpose. Kinomoto Sakura was a dangerous person- ever more so because she was unaware of her affect on him; an affect he refused to analyze further. He clenched his fist; he should steal the violin and be done with it. Except-

Unwillingly, his eyes sought out the second story window that he knew saw into her childhood bedroom.

Except, it would mean leaving her, and that was not something he could do. Not yet.

**Five End**

**TSU RAI KU**

**_. . .and the relief, at the end, is like an early spring. . ._**

_A/N: A few things: even though this is plainly an AU story, I've tried to keep intact certain aspects of the characters' histories and families. My one real step away from this comes with my choice to make Syaoran an only child. In canon, he has his four older sisters, whose difference in age from his own help to create a lot of his 'only-child' idiosyncrasies. For simplicity's sake, I decided to forgo their existence. For the sister fans out there, I'm sorry. There will be no comedic relief coming from the hen-pecking of those four._

_Sakura's mother, Nadeshiko; now I know in canon her death is never fully explained, but I always thought that their early marriage seemed rather senseless considering how young Nadeshiko was then (she was sixteen). Sonomi had described her as delicate (easily a translation for sickly) and there were at least two references to fainting. A heart disease rather fit the bill, I imagined. And so, in this version of the story, the weak heart explains the early marriage and untimely death._

_Incidentally, something I have always admired about Asian cultures is their ancestor veneration. There's something particularly poignant to me about the open treatment of the dead as continued spirits, regardless of the individual's spirituality. It's always struck me as rather optimistic and hopeful, and so parts of this chapter were a bit of an homage to that._


	7. Six

**_A/N: _**_Thanks again for all the great feedback. We're looking at four more chapters after this and an epilogue; so over half way there! I already have a couple of different ideas for a new story once this has finished. We'll see how this goes, though. As always, though, please read and review._

_Strange formatting problems have since been fixed. Thanks!_

_Huge gratitude once again goes out to **SakuraJade **for her outstanding beta-work._

_**Disclaimer:** It's (obviously) all CLAMP's. Woot-woot!_

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TSU RAI KU

__

. . .will you be waiting there for me, I wonder. . .

SIX

**FOR ONCE, THE **hallway distraction was not a barely clad Li Syaoran standing in his doorway. Sakura was half way through expressing her mental gratitude to whichever fair god had looked her way that morning when she realized that this particular hallway distraction was　_still _standing in the doorway, was _still _barely　clad, but, for once, was　female.　Twice she checked the door numbers; there was no mistaking it. This unknown female posing kittenishly in the dimly lit hallway was definitely from Li's apartment. Sakura tried to convince herself that the annoyance that pestered her shoulders was really just a case of a stomach having missed out on breakfast.

"Oi, you're that Kinomoto woman, aren't you?" The unknown female gestured with one pale arm toward the hallway's general space.

Being the only other person in the hallway, Sakura was forced to acknowledge the question as having been directed at her. "Er, yes, I'm Kinomoto Sakura. And you are. . .?"

The woman ignored the cue for exchanging　 introductions and instead padded lazily into the hallway, her bare legs stretching for miles from beneath a teeny strip of cloth that acted as a t-shirt. Sakura struggled not to fidget as the woman stared down at her with a critical gaze. "Hmm. . .disappointing."

"Eh?"

The woman yawned and stretched her arms, each movement showing her figure at its best angle. "I mean, you're hardly attention grabbing or anything. Honestly, I wonder what's wrong with him."

She warred briefly between injury and curiosity. The latter won out. "'Him?'"

"And you don't even fight back, do you? No fun at _all_." The woman batted her eyelashes in a vaguely disappointed fashion. Another stretch and swish of elbow length black hair, and the woman circled back round to perch against the door frame. "Syaoran, of course."

Words paused at Sakura's lips, her eyes having grown wide at the implications of the intimate use of Li's name. "Then, you are Li-san's. . .?"

The woman pursed her lips briefly and then spread them wide, the smile all teeth and tease. "Mei-ling. I'm Syaoran's Mei-ling."

"Nice　to meet you, Mei-ling-san." The politeness was a knee jerk reaction and certainly not from any genuine feeling. A decidedly ugly emotion was rooting about in her stomach, and she was finding it difficult to blame it on lack of breakfast anymore. "Will you be visiting-"

"A-cup, definitely. Maybe a b-cup with the right sort of equipment."

Instantly, her cheeks flushed scarlet in a heat of overwhelming embarrassment. "Excuse me?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Such an over-reaction-"

"Mei-ling, what are you doing?" The introduction of a male voice to the dialogue did little to cool Sakura's blazing cheeks. If anything, the blush deepened when the heretofore slow moving woman draped herself over Li's bare chest and proceeded to nuzzle the space beneath his jaw. That he barely even reacted to the near-attack spoke volumes about their familiarity. Her stomach twisted further, and hurriedly, she turned her face to avoid his gaze. "Kinomoto, you're going to be late for work."

"Eh? Oh, right. . .that's right. The bus- that is, I need to catch my bus." She managed to scurry three steps before rebounding awkwardly to offer an unnecessary bow. "It's nice to have met you, Mei-ling-san."

"Kinomoto, just a minute. I'll follow."

She paused mid-step and tried to ignore the way the woman managed to keep herself attached to Li's chest despite his adorning of a t-shirt, ball cap, and shoes. He fell into step next to her and stole away both her purse and lunch bag. Now without anything to guard herself from the piercing gaze that was glued to her back- the Mei-ling woman had returned to sauntering in the doorway- Sakura attempted to find some other way to dispel the constant query that juggled through her mind.

Who was that Mei-ling woman really and why, oh why, did she come out from Li's apartment dressed in practically nothing?

She bit down on her lip and watched her walking partner from beneath her lashes. More importantly, why did these questions bother her in the first place? That was one answer she didn't dare attempt to grab at.

"Mei-ling was incorrect," he remarked as they climbed onto the bus, she taking a seat near the back and he choosing to loom over her. She was left with only the floor to stare at.

The statement should have been an easy segue into asking about the woman, but Sakura skittered away from that consideration. Instead, she responded with a noncommittal, yet still polite, murmur.

Li went on. "They're a b-cup."

It took nine seconds before his words gained any sensible meaning in her brain. By that point, her formally re-composed features had returned to their earlier crimson. He still held her purse and lunch bag, so she was only left with her arms, which immediately crossed protectively over her chest. She refused to look upward, but somehow, she sensed his amusement　with her open embarrassment.　

"H-how?" she sputtered.

"That first night, when we fought."

It was up for debate, but her flush managed to darken two shades further. It hadn't occurred to her until that very second that she had only been wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of worn in jersey pants that night- those clothes and nothing else. Unreasonably, she felt the need to even the score. "Has Li-san known Mei-ling-san very long?" she asked, pleased with the smoothness of her voice.

"Since we were children."

She chanced a quick glance at his face; he was expressionless. As usual. "So Li-san knew her from Hong Kong?"

"Yes, we lived together there."

Her mind drew a blank, a mental censorship applying itself appropriately to the strategic areas her thoughts flew to. "Li-san and Mei-ling-san. . ..lived together?"

Li grunted in response, and Sakura returned to staring at the bus's spackle-colored floor. That buzzing heaviness that had crept upon her shoulders in the hallway was growing heavier still. She refused to address the reasons for it, but she knew that she really did not like knowing that Li and that woman had lived- _were living_- together. It bothered her in a way different from the usual ways most things about Li bothered her. And she really was bothered by most everything about him: his penchant for one syllable responses, his rough treatment of her wrists and arms, how he was constantly inserting himself into her person affairs (read as prospective dates), and especially his ease in making _completely_ embarrassing statements. Oh, and she couldn't leave out-

The bus stopped, and Sakura realized that she was scowling almost as fiercely as the object of her recriminations. She hastily smoothed out her expression, and she alighted from the bus, Li a step behind her. She halted a few meters from the entrance and turned around, a hand upraised. "Stop. Li-san doesn't need to come any further."

He frowned, which was pretty much par for the course expression-wise. "I'm holding your bags."

Peevishly, she tried to snatch them from him. She was unsuccessful. "Give me my bags. You don't need to follow me into work."

Unaffected, he held the bags out from her reach. "It's not a question of need."

"You can't mean that you _want_ to spend the day with me at work," she replied skeptically.

"Who said anything about the day?" Seemingly amused, he patted her on the head lightly with her unreturned bags. "Just the morning."

He stepped around her and proceeded to stroll through the glass double doors that led into her building. "Li, you can't just co-" Sakura lowered her voice at the curious glances that were thrown her way. "You can't just come in here."

He whirled around, the movement somehow graceful with his body. "Why?"

She took a careful step back, his quick motion having brought him far too close for comfort. Unbidden, her flush returned. She stubbornly turned her chin away from his gaze and spoke to the space next to him. "Li-san is dressed like the udon noodle delivery man, she whispered.

"Udon noodle- _Oi_!" He lifted his arm as if to knock her again, but a body passed between the small space that separated them. Sakura found herself looking up into the pleasantly smiling face of her manager.

"Eriol-san?"

"Good morning, Sakura-san. How are you?" Eriol seemed completely oblivious to the increasingly angry figure behind him.

"G-good morning to you, too. Um, Eriol-san, behind you. . .?"

Eriol turned slowly and stepped back, seemingly surprised to finally notice the seething body lurking behind him. "Sakura-san's friend, here so early?" He held out an arm, plainly reaching for the two bags still held in Li's custody.

Li smiled back, a tightness to his jaw belying his true feeling. "Yes, here so early." He ignored the proffered arm. "She's not staying very long. Let's go."

It was that rainy night all over again. Her wrist was seized, her arm yanked, and her body propelled forward. It took the full force and weight of her digging in her heels to force Li to halt from his motions. He paused to glance behind, his mouth turned in annoyance.

"Let go. Li-" He began pulling again, and frustrated, Sakura used one of her heels on his foot. He released her immediately. "I want you to stop this, right now." She spoke in a hushed whisper, mindful that once again all the eyes in the lobby were on them. "I　have a job, I have to work. Li-san should know this by now."

"And maybe, _Kinomoto-san_ should know to listen when _she's_ warned about strange men. That guy is _not_ safe." He mirrored her tones, his impatience all the more palpable in the low timber. "Now come on."

"No." She stood firm, unable to disguise the hurt in her voice. "Eriol-san has never been anything other than polite and nice. _You_," she chose the word purposely, trying to inflect as much disdain into the one syllable as possible, "you, on the other hand, have yelled at me, bullied me, lied to me, insulted me, and now, you've even managed to bother my friends. I'm not going anywhere with you, not now and not later. So just leave-"

"Li-san, I was hoping you wouldn't mind speaking with me a moment."

Sakura was left hanging as Eriol led a visibly unwilling Li to a side corner. She watched as the two spoke, one calm and smiling, the other angry and generous with his gestures. A piece of paper was exchanged between the two, after which Li broke away, sending her one terse scowl, before barreling through the double doors and back out into the sunlight. Eriol quickly returned to her side, her retrieved purse and lunch bag in tow.

Her lunch, she reflected briefly, was probably ruined.

"Now that _that _matter's taken care of," Eriol began a minute later as they waited in the elevator. "I have a favor to ask, Sakura-san."

Sakura nodded absently, and it was only later when a package arrived at her desk with instructions to head to a four o'clock appointment with the second floor salon services that she realized what that particular favor entailed.

**II **

**BEFORE THAT, HOWEVER**, there was an interlude- an interlude ushered in by the sudden entrance of one recently absent Mihara Chiharu. Sakura spotted the tall, athletic frame of her friend from primary school from across the fifth floor cafeteria tiles. She half rose from her chair, her meal yet untouched, and waved her friend over,　more than a little curious at what might have prompted the surprise visit.

"Sakurin," Chiharu greeted brightly before plopping into an open chair. "I need your advice."

"Is it about Takashi?" Sakura asked, picking apart the pieces of rice and fish that had run together due to the morning's exploits.

"Sometimes I really dislike that guy." Chiharu's brown eyes warmed with anger. "Do you know what he said when I came home this morning? Of all the things he could think to say, guess what he said?"

Sakura pretended interest in her rice. Chiharu's vehemence had always been a powerful thing. "He made up some story about how you have a stalker who lives next door to you. I mean, honestly, did he think I would fall for it? We've known each other for twenty years, and this is the best he could do? Eh, Sakurin, what kind of man-"

"Chiharu-chan, actually-" Sakura tried to interrupt, but her friend was already in a fine steam.

"- and then he has the sheer nerve to insinuate that _I_ am the one who is always making up lies. And do you know, Sakurin, he actually accused me of flirting- me, _flirting_- with my co-worker just because I laughed at one of his jokes. What right does he have-"

"Chiharu-chan!" The tall brunette was startled into silence; Sakura continued in a lower tone. "Chiharu-chan, Takashi wasn't lying. I do have a stalker. Well, sort of. And he does live next door to me."

"Taka-chan wasn't lying?" Chiharu's voice sounded oddly disconcerted. "But he began like he always does, that 'true story' something or the other."

"He wasn't lying. He told the truth."

Chiharu stared for a brief second and then promptly began to cry. Sakura pushed back her chair, her hands fluttering in hopefully soothing movements over her friend's shoulders. "Sakurin, I'm just so tired of always fighting. It's always one thing or the other, and he's never serious. But he was right this time, I was flirting. It wasn't a funny joke at all, and I laughed because I knew Taka-chan was watching, and _gawd_, but he's never jealous, you know? He's always so convinced that I'm not going anywhere, and just once, I want him to act like he's afraid to lose me. Because- because-"

"Because Chiharu-chan loves Takashi very much, right?" Sakura smiled as Chiharu raised her head from the table, her cheeks damp and red from the tears. "You should tell him."

"But-"

"No but's. If you love him, you should tell him. That's the rule, isn't it?" It was a pact the four of them- Sakura, Tomoyo, Chiharu, and Naoko- had made before entering high school: that no matter what, if they fell in love with someone, they would confess. Naoko caused a stir the first day of high school by confessing to over seven boys and getting rejected by six. Sakura's first love confession a year later had ended in an abysmal failure. Tomoyo managed to make half of their homeroom class confess to her before the end of the first year; she rejected all of them. But Chiharu, for her there was always Takashi. Lunch times and Valentine's Days, Christmas Eves and Graduation Day buttons. The two were a constant pair, a foregone conclusion.

It had never occurred to Sakura that the two might have skipped ever confessing to each other.

"Chiharu-chan, you need to tell him," she repeated, lifting her friend's chin gently. "Right?"

Chiharu blinked twice, wiped at her cheeks, and then nodded, a teary smile spreading across her face. "Right. Exactly right."

**III**

**THE SALON WAS** eerily intimidating. The stylists were each coiffed and mousse-ed to perfection, with androgynously perfect make-up and svelte physiques that matched their gender-neutral names. They took her without any greeting, threw her down into a chair, and began an hour long torture session consisting of sharp objects, cold color pencils, and a too hot curling iron. Years of having survived Tomoyo's attentions in the wardrobe had provided Sakura with a high tolerance. The end product, though, was very much like those unveiling moments from years past. She stumbled out from the changing room, feeling barely dressed and uncomfortable, and bravely greeted her reflection.

Her hair had been gathered in a series of piled wisps that clung to each other in a seemingly effortless up-do, her face free from any of the strands. Her make-up looked invisible, and yet, her eyes stared with irises more abundant than before, lips that parted in a dulcet pink, and skin that glowed. Her only jewelry was a pair of tiny emerald chips that sparkled from her ear lobes, drawing ever more attention to her naked shoulders and throat. The silk green dress, a touch darker than her eyes, followed her slim build and gave it a tasteful stature she thought only Tomoyo's designs capable of giving.

Sakura felt stunned; who knew she could look like this?

"Sakura-san looks beautiful."

She twisted around, her cheeks warming to have been caught unawares. Her manager smiled at from across the salon, his black hair swept back from his forehead and his glasses absent from view. In his black tuxedo, Eriol Hiiragizawa looked equal parts dashing and mysterious. Her stomach made an uncomfortable turn, an emotion she couldn't quite place settling over her. It made her hands tremble as she crossed the room, and when he placed a hand on her back to guide her toward the elevators, that emotion grew.

This felt. . .somehow. . .wrong.

That sensation only increased once they arrived at the hotel the banquet was being held in. Eriol led her from the town-car to the ballroom, pausing to trade greetings with dignitaries and politicians along the way, his hand always warm and steady on her back. She could feel the pressure of it through her thin dress, a pressure that seemed to scald her skin. She couldn't shake the reticence, the illogical fear she was feeling. Her lips smiled automatically with each greeting, her mouth opening to partake in the necessary politesse. She recognized none of the faces, the huge room a seeming sea of vibrant colors and dotted blacks. Hesitantly, she turned toward her partner, her vision swimming dangerously with the slow movement.

"Eriol-san, may I sit down? I think I'm-" She shuddered as he turned to look at her, his blue eyes flickering coldly before fading into a more pleasant hue. He nodded and, with his hand still present and scorching on her back, led her to one of the tables that ringed the room. She took her seat, unable to differentiate whether she was more relieved to have his hand off of her or to no longer be on her feet. She heard the rustle of him taking the chair next to her left; her eyes flew open when she felt her right hand suddenly seized from under the table.

A pair of familiar brown eyes glared at her, waves of hostility flowing off from him. "Li-san? What are-" She winced, the grip on her hand tightening painfully.

"I invited Li-san and Mei-ling-san to join us tonight; I thought you might enjoy having some of your friends with us, Sakura-san." There was an edge to Eriol's words that Sakura couldn't translate, a double meaning layering the words that seemed to be more directed toward Li. She avoided looking to her right and tried to ignore the blatant stare directed her way. Instead, she focused on Mei-ling across the table, her eyes registering the sleek red gown and elaborate hair style that left the Chinese girl looking like an exotic flower. "So Eriol-san and Mei-ling-san know each other?"

Eriol nodded. "I used to live in Hong Kong. I had the opportunity of meeting the Li family. You could say we became partners for a short time."

Sakura nodded, unable to ignore the warmth radiating from her hand. She could feel Li's eyes on her, and her bare shoulders felt all the more vulnerable. The run of his thumb over her palm, the increasing pressure of his fingers over hers- she felt her chest tighten. "T-that's good then, to meet up like this again."

"So Kinomoto, you're here as Hiiragizawa's date or girlfriend or what?" Mei-ling asked, playing with her straw, a coy smile on her red lips.

"Eh? No, of course not. Eriol-san's my manager at-" Her words were cut off by a giggle. The Chinese girl held a hand over her mouth and giggled again.

"My, what a strong reaction. It's all right, Kinomoto, I'm not going to blab it to your co-workers. If you're having a secret relationship with Hiiragizawa, then it's your business. I was just curious." Those red lips spread in a wide in a wide smile as two gloved hands reached to pat Li on the shoulder. "Not everyone can be as free as Syaoran and I, after all. Right, Syaoran?"

She couldn't look away, her eyes caught roughly on the sight of the Chinese girl's lips grazing the tender skin of Li's cheek. That he made no sign of noticing the gesture made it all the more damaging; plainly, this was something he was used to, something that didn't even incur a reaction anymore. Her cheeks flushed, she turned her gaze away forcefully. Her hand, traitorous thing, trembled in Li's grasp. She wanted to leave; she didn't want to be in this ballroom with its decorated walls and glamorous visitors- she had no place in this type of world. Her dress and make-up- her stylish hair-do and ridiculously earrings; just what kind of pretend was she playing at really? She was merely an office worker doing a favor for her boss.

Nothing more.

"Eriol-san, I want to go home now." The grasp on her hand stiffened and then released. She stared down at her lap. "Please, I'm not feeling very well."

"If that's the case, then my apartment is just a few minutes from here. Sakura-san can rest there."

She opened her mouth to decline, her stomach once again turning. Li beat her to it. "She's not going anywhere with you. I'll take her home."

"Do you think that wise, Li-san?" Eriol stood from his chair, his hand coming to rest lightly against the bare skin of Sakura's shoulder. That earlier vein of distaste surged from the slight pressure of his fingers on her flesh; she twisted up and out of her chair, pulling from his touch in the abrupt movement.

"It's fine, Eriol-san, I just need to rest for a little bit and then I'll be fine." Li began to stand as well, but he stilled when her gaze caught his. She recognized that she was smiling, although her lips felt brittle and her cheeks stiff. "Li-san has Mei-ling-san to care for, after all. Neighborly concern only stretches so far; we're really just strangers, aren't we?"

Li seemed frozen, his normally expressionless face slack in surprise and more than a fair touch of something that resembled hurt. Sakura convinced herself it was only annoyance; annoyance that his charge, his bait was sneaking away. She told herself, even as Eriol led her back out to the street and into the waiting town-car, that it wasn't jealousy that made her want to leave- that it wasn't fear of the unknown that made her want to escape. She wasn't reacting like a petulant child whose favorite toy had been snatched away; she wasn't affected by Li and his would-be girlfriend in the least. All those things in the past, all those moments of seeming intimacy- it had been pretend, and she was just silly and naive enough to have forgotten that.

The car stopped and she stepped out and onto the sidewalk. The evening was still early, the pale dusk sky still tinged with the lingering sunset. The city lights hid the shyly encroaching stars overhead; the air hung with teasing breezes. Her hair fell in one smooth gust, and unable to smile, she turned to speak, disliking herself even as she lied. "I'm feeling better now, Eriol-san. I think I'll just go home. You don't mind, right?"

Sakura didn't wait for an answer, her feet already moving eastward. Her dress whipped in the wind, her small frame offered up to the full vestiges of the evening zephyrs. She didn't feel the cold; instead, she kept remembering the way her hand had welcomed his- Li's- touch; she kept remembering how, instead of resisting or struggling against it, her fingers had unfolded and crossed with his. He had been sitting there with his beautiful girlfriend, and her heart had jumped at the chance to touch him. She bowed her head, willing away the lingering memory.

She had to remember: it was only pretend.

When she opened her door, two hours later, the hem of her dress dirtied and her shoes dangling from her hand, she could only stare. In the pale light of the street outside, her apartment illuminated a familiar figure, his dinner jacket removed and his hair disheveled. He had been waiting for her.

"_Syaoran. . ._"

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Six End

**TSU RAI KU**

**_. . .will you be waiting there for me, I wonder. . ._**


	8. Seven

**A/N: **_Right, so this was ridiculously overdue. I'm sorry about that. Thank you for your patience and continued support, though. Without further distraction, here's chapter seven._

_**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to the genius of CLAMP. _

_

* * *

_

**TSU RAI KU**

**_. . . doubting is a deeper fall. . ._**

**SEVEN**

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"_Syaoran_. . ."

**WORDLESSLY, HE TOOK** the shoes from her fingers and closed the door behind her, his chest warm behind her back. Sakura listened to him breathe, the sound both harsh and soothing in its predictability. "Why are you here?" she asked in an echo of many times before.

He responded as he normally did, with silence and padded back to where he had been sitting only moments before. Sakura's eyes adjusted to the lack of light and picked up the dark shadows of emptied cans. He had been drinking. "Tonight, though, what are you doing here- in my apartment? What do you want?"

"I thought as _neighbors_, I'd take you up on some hospitality."

She found comfort in the pique of annoyance that pulsed near her temples. "I want that key back; I don't want you coming in here anymore unannounced-"

"Afraid I'm going to walk in on you and your little friend?" he interrupted, the hiss of another can opening following immediately after. "Not enough private time at work for your fun?"

She ignored his taunting, biting back at the retort that sprang to her lips. What claim did he have to her private life, anyway? She took a seat beside him, her dress hiking up to her knees as she bent to pick up the emptied cans of beer. They numbered seven in total; she eyed him carefully. Was he drunk? "How long has Li-san been sitting here drinking in the dark?"

"Back to that again- _Li-san, Li-san_," he mimicked. "I find it interesting how you choose your relationships. A little politeness, a little chivalry, and you're won over. Talk about easy."

Her eyes widened, his words stinging. "I don't like what you're trying to insinuate. Eriol-san and I are-"

"_Yes_, I know very well what you two are."

Her hands slammed down on the floor, her patience having evaporated much earlier. "Stop being such a child. Aren't you trying to find the person who killed your mother? How does sitting in my room and getting drunk help with that? Li-san, what exactly are-" She broke off, Li having stood up and approached the glass case that held her parents' photographs and the violin. She crossed silently to his side. He stared into the glass, his palm pressed against the cold surface.

Hesitantly, her hand trembling, she touched his arm. She felt him shudder beneath her fingers. "Please tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help-"

"You can help," he interrupted again, his expression shadowed from her gaze by the darkness. "You can give me this violin."

"But you said you didn't need to- you said that you'd changed your mind!" she protested, thoughts of her brother far from her mind. The equation was a simple one, a simple subtraction of certain necessary factors and then a finite ending. If the violin were no longer with her- if there was no longer a need to be near it, to be near her, then Li- "No. You can't have it."

"Then I'll have to take it."

The glass case's lock was sprung in two short movements of his fingers; the violin was removed just as quickly, and Sakura found herself in the same position she'd held only a few weeks before. She landed on her back, hard, the air knocked from her lungs forcefully, but he fell with her, his heavier weight slamming into her chest harshly. She clawed at his grip, ignoring his face held so closely to her own. The cover of gloom and night hid the details of his features, and if she focused only on the violin, she could forget the reason for her struggle altogether.

A last tug from her fingers and the violin spilled into her palm; it was not the result of her own strength, though. Li had stopped moving. For a scarce minute, she laid still, so very aware of the warm breath on her neck and exigent heat on top of her. It pooled between them, that intangible _something _that hovered and swelled, that tiptoed and annoyed. She couldn't place its proper name, couldn't place its proper title. It was both dense and light, and all she could think was that, whatever it was, it couldn't be real.

After all, Sakura knew the reason for his presence. He was here for revenge, for information. She was just a lure, the latest clue- the most recent puzzle piece. Unbidden, her stomach twisted and angrily she pushed at his shoulders. "Get off of me, Li. You're drunk and need to sleep it off."

"_Sakura_."

Against her will, she stopped struggling. His voice peppered into her ear like a soft breeze, the word a gentle caress against her skin. "_Sakura_. . ." He seemed to blend into her, his body a rise and fall of layered pieces that matched effortlessly with her own. "You smell like your home, like softness and spring. . .like _sakura_. I like this, this _Sakura_."

The pain, different from any other such ache she had felt in the past, crippled her from speech and action. It felt like fear, like the unknown- it was a dark cave without light and filled with whispering spirits. She rebelled against it, and when her voice returned to her, she used it fully. "Liar. Li-san is using such sly means to try to get what he wants. Li-san should leave. _You _should leave now."

Perhaps it was something in her tone, the way she sounded so singularly certain, so completely unlike her usual self, but he listened and obeyed. She laid there, unable to stand in his absence. Her cheeks felt wet to her fingers, and distantly, she recognized that the beautiful silk gown she wore had been ruined in the struggle. Sakura pulled her pillow to her chest, bowed her head, and wept.

* * *

**II**

**

* * *

**

**THE SUNSHINE BASKED** in its spring headiness, and cheerfully, Sakura obeyed its direction, removing her outer sweater and stretching her arms skyward. She had arrived early to the temple, wanting to do a quick once-over on the recent changes. The inner temple was being preserved, little to nothing in it needing new wiring or paint. The two outside chambers- once cloisters that housed the temple's priests- had been completely re-fashioned. An entire wall had been knocked out to make way for a small cafe- Sakura's original idea. Visitors to the shrine could present their prayers, purchase a charm or blessing for good fortune, and then pause for a refreshment at the cafe. It was there that she waited, seated with her eyes half closed at one of the sample tables she had brought to have the temple owner decide upon. This would be their first meeting, and all she had been prepared with was his name: Andrew Reed, an Englishman.

"Kinomoto Sakura-san?"

She straightened to attention at the words, rising from her chair, smile already prepared. The owner was a tall man, with kind features and dark hair kept long and to the side. There was an instant air of familiarity to him that surprised her. The way in which he smiled was as if he had known her for a very long time. "Reed-san then? How are you?" she asked, bowing slightly.

Reed smiled pleasantly, gesturing back to the chairs. Sakura returned to her seat gratefully, overly aware of her short stature compared to his. "Thank you for meeting me here. I wanted to review the next phase of development and hear your ideas regarding the present changes."

"You have unusual eyes, Kinomoto-san. I was not expecting that." Reed motioned to one of the workers in the cafe; the man approached. "You have the espresso machine running, yes? An espresso for me, and for Kinomoto-san-"

"Oh, just water, please," Sakura replied jerkily, still uncomfortable with the strange commentary about her eyes. She knew the rare color- rare for Japan- often piqued the interests of others, but the way in which he spoke; it was as if he had some comparison to draw from.

"And one water for Kinomoto-san." Reed, seemingly satisfied, pulled his chair closer and gestured for the folder in her hands, which she handed over easily. "Now then, Kinomoto-san, tell me about my shop."

"Of course; firstly, as you can see, the cafe is coming along nicely. We want to retain the original woodwork for the exterior, maybe applying a layer of varnish for protection. The interior will be re-paneled, and for decorations, we've found a number of photographs taken in the 1920s and 50s of the temple priests and the shrine-" She broke off, noticing that Reed's expression had changed completely. He appeared perplexed. "Is something bothering Reed-san?"

"Are you really Kinomoto Sakura?" Reed paid no attention to the arrival of his espresso.

"Yes. . .yes, I am." Sakura could only answer in the affirmative, having never been asked such a question. Seeking something to back up her claim, she reach around her neck for her office badge, and taking it off, handed it across the table. "See?"

Reed's brown eyes clouded over, his confusion deepening. "You really look nothing alike, and I could have sworn that you would be here to ask me questions as well."

"'Look nothing alike?'" she repeated back to him, her thoughts quickly connecting the dots. "Reed-san's met my brother. . ."

"Yes, Touya-san came to me in Hong Kong-"

Hong Kong, again- first Li; she shuddered, forgetting her earlier resolve to not think of him at all. "When? Why was he there- what did he want to know?"

"Just a moment, Kinomoto-san," Reed spread his hands, as if surrendering. "I really don't know all that much. Touya-san came to me with some questions about my brother. I answered them, and then we parted ways. I simply thought it was curious to have met another Kinomoto."

Disappointment swelled in her chest, and reluctantly, Sakura nodded her understanding. "I see. . . I'm sorry for-" But she didn't know what rightly to apologize for. Surely it was no coincidence that this man should come across her path at this exact moment? Coincidences like that didn't exist; it had to mean something. "May I ask what my brother wanted to know?"

A shiver of sadness flickered over Reed's gentle features. "Touya-san wanted to know how to meet my brother, and I told him that it was impossible. My brother died over two years ago in an accident."

"Oh, Reed-san, I'm-" Again, she floundered for the right response. In her eagerness to learn more of her brother's situation, she had forgotten her purpose that day. She was not there to pressure Reed into sharing such sad memories. "I'm sorry," she finished lamely. "I won't ask any more questions."

"No, no, it's all right. Your brother was an interesting fellow. He reminded me very much of-" Reed shook his and finally considered his espresso. "Regardless, I enjoyed speaking with him, so there's nothing to apologize for. What do you say we return to those pictures you were telling me about?"

With only a small reluctance, Sakura agreed and picked up with describing the continued project. The conversation continued without a relapse, the only momentary pause coming when her eyes caught sight of a familiar form leaning against the large cherry tree that centered the temple's main square. Her breath caught in her throat, and only through pretending the pause due to thirst was she able to continue on as if all was right in the world. The knots in her stomach told her otherwise. She needed- what she needed-

"Kinomoto-san, are you all right?"

She looked into Reed's concerned gaze and summoned a bright smile. "Completely."

She needed her best friend.

* * *

**III**

****

* * *

**"I DON'T WANT** another drink," Sakura repeated for the fourth time. A glass filled with a suspiciously pink liquid was pushed her way regardless. She attempted to glare from across the kotatsu, but the combined powers of a heated blanket and a Tsuraiku DVD playing in the background defeated her.

"I'll stop pushing drinks if Sakura-chan tells me what's really bothering her." Tomoyo smiled, while sipping from own glass demurely.

"Sakura should know better than to keep such things inside," Rika chided gently.

"Yes, yes, it's very dangerous to bottle things up all the time. True story: my great uncle's best friend's daughter used to never cry. It didn't matter what happened, if she broke her arm or lost someone she loved- she never cried." Takashi lowered his voice to an unnecessary hush, oblivious to the increasingly annoyed twitch in his girlfriend's jaw. Despite herself, Sakura leaned in closer.

"One day, though, as she was crossing an old bridge that led over a long dry creek, a pine needle from overhead fell down and struck her face, piercing the small space of skin beneath her eye. There was no pain, only a sudden dampness. The woman lifted her hand to her cheek, confused by the wetness on her skin. Within minutes that trickle turned into a gushing torrent; the pine needle had released the years of unwept tears, and by morning the creek was full and the woman was no more." Takashi finished and sat back, wrapping the kotatsu blanket more firmly around him. "True story- ow!"

Chiharu lowered her fist, surprised. She had been beaten to it. Tomoyo shook out her hand gingerly. "Takashi-chii needs to stop with all the silly stories. This is serious. Sakura-chan came to us for help."

Sakura bit back a sigh. In actuality, she had gone to Tomoyo for advice- and a place to crash for a few nights. But the moment she mentioned the circumstances of her conflict, Tomoyo had grabbed her mobile and began punching numbers. The end result had been an impromptu gathering in Tomoyo's spacious 23rd floor loft. The kotatsu was unearthed, Rika brought the snacks (all of which had been hand made in the brief two hours between the phone call and her arrival), and Takashi and Chiharu lumbered in with Tsuraiku concert DVDs, drink mixers, and an unnecessary amount of tissues. The support, while appreciated, was a bit overwhelming.

It didn't help that they kept throwing alcohol at her, either. The thready control she held over her emotions only weakened with its addition, and the absolute last thing she wanted was to break down into a full confession of what had transpired the night before. She didn't want to face the feelings behind those actions- she didn't want to have anyone guess at them, vocalize them and drive them into undeniable fact. If that happened, then there was no way she could just pretend-

"It's that neighbor of yours, isn't it? The stalker one." Chiharu nodded sagely, brandishing her chopsticks as she spoke. "I haven't met him or anything, but it does sound like some sort of shoujo story, doesn't it?"

Takashi gulped his drink fervently. "There's no doubt- he's taciturn and rude, but attractive in that stony sort of way. He is definitely the Mysterious, Violent Type. And then there's Sakurin's new boss, the Pleasing, Secretly-Dangerous Type."

Chiharu appeared completely unbothered by her significant other's easy knowledge of the workings of romance manga. "I want to see them together! I want to."

"Well_ I_ don't," Sakura returned adamantly. Her morning had been spent in careful avoidance of Eriol, which proved rather difficult considering her entire department consisted of nine people, open cubicles, and only one working elevator. "Nothing would make me happier than waking up tomorrow and finding both of them gone." She ignored the lurch in her chest that said otherwise.

"But I thought Sakura liked Eriol-san?" Rika managed to make eating _tamagoyaki_ look both delicate and poised.

"Sakura-chan's only interested because _he's_ interested." Tomoyo leapt up briefly to angle the remote to the DVD player. Tsuraiku began playing their second set for the third time. "No, she's far more confused about the neighbor, who keeps dragging her off to places."

"It is a triangle, it is!" Chiharu seemed to be having far too much fun with Sakura's situation for her tastes. She found that glowering over a bowl of _nattō_ paste provided exactly the right sort of expression to intimidate. Chiharu paled slightly. "I mean, _er: _poor Sakurin! A simple life is much better."

"I think we should take this more seriously. Sakura-chan's unhappy." Rika plied another serving of rice into Sakura's bowl, as if the addition emphasized the full extent of Sakura's unhappiness. "We should try to think of ways to help."

Sakura groaned into her arms, fully regretting her decision to ask for advice, as the conversation continued to digress. This was turning into a circus- granted, she normally enjoyed the ruckus she got into with her friends. The inanities normally helped alleviate whatever stress she might have been feeling. Her spirits were raised and by morning, her worries seemed insignificant. Perhaps, she realized, the only reason it worked was because her worries were insignificant. At the present, help seemed very far away.

Her ears caught onto a word and immediately she straightened, her hand coming to land down on the table surface with a slam. "No cosplay- no way!"

"I think it would definitely help," Tomoyo insisted stubbornly, her expression already growing overly excited at the idea.

"There is absolutely no way that it would help!" Another glass of pink liquid was shoved in front of her; she shot a glare at the culprit who then decided to speak up.

"Sakurin, come on! It would be fun- we can even go down to _Aki-san_ and play with the robo- _ow_!" Takashi rubbed his forehead gingerly, Chiharu's chopsticks having struck there with finite force.

"Okay then, no cosplay- but it might have helped." Tomoyo fiddled with the remote, her lower lip showing plainly that she was in a full on sulk. "Sakura-chan doesn't know that it wouldn't have."

"Maybe Sakurin could date both of them? See which one she likes most?" Chiharu gestured with her chopsticks as she reasoned out loud. "The one who liked her the most would get the most jealous, and then Sakurin would know who was the best choice."

"Maybe, but the one who liked her the most might be the most willing to do anything just to be with Sakura- even if it meant sharing her," Rika pointed out earnestly.

Sakura stared at Rika, disbelievingly. Rika too now? Were none of her friends sane? "Listen, there is no triangle, no love mystery. I'm not confused about choosing between them. I already know which one I like the best-" Hurriedly, she clapped a hand over her mouth. "I didn't say that."

"Ah, ah, who then? The stalker or Glasses-san?"

"The stalker, definitely."

"But I've seen Glasses-san, and he has this air-"

"Chiharu-chan hasn't seen the stalker; she would change her mind."

"Really?"

"Ask Rika-chan."

"Rika-chan?"

"Yes, really."

Sakura gave up entirely on any hopes she had for finding some closure to her conflictions. She supposed she was partly to blame, having not shared the entire story with any of her friends. Somehow, though, she imagined that if they knew the finer details of the entanglement, it would only serve as further encouragement. Wearily, she stood up from the table and retreated to the small balcony that edged out from the bedroom. The height dazzled her eyes, but they were soon closed regardless. Unbidden, her thoughts returned to her empty apartment, left in chaotic disarray from her escape that morning.

"Hiding?"

She opened her eyes. "Just for a little bit."

"I'm sorry for back there." Takashi leaned back against the railings. "We all just want to see Sakurin smiling again."

Sakura sighed. "I know. Normally, I'd be fine by now, but this is something else. . . I just can't quite-" She gazed upwards, the night sky dimmed by the city lights.

"Sakurin has always been a coward."

Sakura tried not to feel insulted, but her lips pursed nonetheless. "Takashi has always been a liar."

He smiled at her, shrugging the comment off for the truth it was. "Even when we were in elementary school, during the courage tests with ghosts, Sakurin would cry and hide, terrified of what might be waiting in the shadows."

She remembered those days; her fear of the dark and ghosts hadn't lessened as she grew older. Even now, if she slept in an unfamiliar place, her dreams would wake her with tremors and the sincere belief that there most definitely something waiting for her in the gloom. "I'm not that little girl anymore, though."

"You're right, of course. You're not a little girl anymore, but you still hide when frightened by the unknown. You still run away when confronted by the unexpected." Takashi's hand pressed gently on her shoulder. "Sakurin can be brave for anyone else, but when it comes to her, she's a coward."

He was right, of course. They had been friends for too long for him to not be. "I liked Yuu very much, maybe even loved him a little, but he was safe. I knew that even if he did leave it, it wouldn't be too painful. I just-" she broke off, her heart beat racing. "I don't want to get hurt, Takashi."

"You're already hurting, Sakura-chan." Tomoyo stepped through the open doorway, a small cup of tea in her hands. "You're already in pain. I mean, honestly, you spent the whole evening without smiling and looking like you'd start crying any second! It seems a little too late to be talking about getting hurt."

"I can't trust him," Sakura insisted, stubbornly refusing to grant credence to her friends' words. "I'm just a means to an end with him."

Tomoyo shook her head. "It's not about that. It's-" She spread her hands, her tea jostling.

"-it's about whether Sakurin can trust herself," Takashi finished for her.

Sakura stared over the ledge, the city seeming so miniscule from above. Was this how the world appeared to heaven? Was this how her parents watched over her? Perhaps, from that distance, the answer really was that simple. Lifting her eyes, she curved her lips into her first genuine smile of the night. "Eh? How did Takashi get so wise? Tomoyo-chan's no mystery, but Takashi? No way."

"I've been assigned to a mangaka this month; it's shoujo, shoujo, and more shoujo," he confessed ruefully.

"Good. Takashi-chii needs some inspiration on how to propose to Chi-chan." Tomoyo's words resulted in an immediate reaction. Takashi nearly fell in his haste to escape from the balcony, Tomoyo's twinkling laughter trailing after him. "Sakura-chan knows, right? You can stay here as long as you like."

Sakura lifted her green eyes back to the night sky and its nearly hidden stars. She was remembered of the night spent in Tomoeda, of the cool grass under her feet, and the tender expression she had seen there. The knot in her chest twisted tighter, and resolutely, she shook her head clear.

"I know, but I can't hide here forever. Tomorrow, I'll go home tomorrow."

**Seven End**

**TSU RAI KU**

**. . ._doubting is a deeper fall . . ._**

****

_**A/N:** Just a few quick notes on words or phrases referenced. _

_Nattō: refers to a type of food made from fermented soybeans. It can take some getting used to, as it's generally very strong in both smell and taste. I am not a huge fan, just a bit too over-powering for me._

_Kotatsu: a low table that contains a heater and blanket- fabulous for the winter time to keep warm while eating. It's really easy to fall asleep at those incidentally._

_Tamagoyaki: Delicious! If you've ever watched a jdrama, you've probably seen a restaurant scene involving an open griddle and the diners making something that looks eggy on them. That's tamagoyaki! It's called differently depending upon where you are in Japan, but essentially, it's an omelets and hard to beat._

_Shoujo: romance manga targeted, ordinarily, at the more youthful female demographic. Plainly, the entire third scene of this chapter is me poking some fun at my contrivances for this story. Which makes sense since Card Captor Sakura was originally a manga by CLAMP, and then an anime, and I'm still waiting on my live action._

_Aki-san: Slang for Akihabara, also sometimes called Akiba. Aki-san is a district in Tokyo famous for its otaku. It's a haven for geeks everywhere, and it doesn't matter what your particular geekdom is, if you have the interest, they'll have the shop/café/fellow fan. Seriously, if you do anything in Japan (and yes, I know this sounds silly considering), go to Akiba. Sooooooo wish they had an equivalent here in Florida._

_Just a side note on Aki-san: somehow, in my take on Takashi, I pictured him as Akiba-goer. Can't you just see him at a Maid Café? _


End file.
